


Untethered

by its_mike_kapufty



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Churches & Cathedrals, College, Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Guns, Happy Ending, Hearteyes Rhett, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Marijuana, Master/Servant, Matter of Life and Death, Mutual Masturbation, Near Death, Obsessive Behavior, Oh No He's Hot, Police, Praise, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Slow Burn, Supernatural Illnesses, Vigilantism, Vomiting, demon!Rhett and human!Link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 109,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: Link would've never guessed that the price of fucking up his entire life is approximately 5¢.





	1. Happy Monday, Link!

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, the sincerest of "thank you"s to my tireless cheerleaders and betas, [B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/analog08/pseuds/analog08) and [Dill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhinkythingz/pseuds/rhinkythingz). Y'all have encouraged me from day one, and you make my stories a hell of a lot more fun to tell.
> 
> And of course, thank you to anyone who decides to take this journey with me! ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ctrl + click to open Link's song in a new tab.

Link is having a great day.

As far as Mondays go, this one had been a winner: he’d gotten a perfect score on his bio lab paper (complete with bubbling praise scrawled in the margins), he’d been hand-invited to a Student Government-sponsored icebreaker by a pretty girl, and a new episode of his favorite podcast had downloaded to his phone just in time for the long walk home.

First, of course, he has to listen to his wind-down song. Weightless, white sneakers carry him along cracked and crumbling sidewalks bathed in sunlight as he hits [play](https://youtu.be/_Uw6oJecPBA) on his ritual.

 _“You been lookin’ kinda thirsty._ _  
_ _If you want it I can shake it, I can stir it, I could pour you some.”_

Heck yeah; he gets to go home and tell his parents happy things! They’d been crazy nervous for him over the past two weeks, probably stemming from the butterflies that had been renting party space in his own stomach. Starting college is a big deal, sure; but things are going to be awesome. His classmates are nice, his professors seem to like him, and his courses are challenging, but not difficult—an appreciated step-up from the drudgery of high school.

 _“I can make it kinda dirty,_ _  
_ _put some bitters on your body and I betcha I could get ya buzzed.”_

Not to mention, if Link’s being totally honest with himself? He looks real nice today. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the student center’s large, tinted windows after being given a flyer for this weekend’s freshman mixer had felt pretty swell. Chic clothes, feathered hair, bright eyes, and a stylish-but-not-ostentatious backpack. Whenever his blues match the sky, it’s a selfie kinda day.

 _“I’ll give you culture just like kombucha,_  
_you’re lookin’ like a snack, lemme take your picture._  
_Wake up in the morning and I’ll still be with ya, with ya, with ya, wi-wi-with ya.”_

Afternoon traffic drizzles by and Link walks with a hop in his step along a strip of storefronts on the outskirts of campus. If he were less considerate—and perhaps wasn’t currently wearing a backpack lugging an overpriced laptop—he might have jumped up and tried to slap one of the hanging business signs. But he doesn’t. No need to be disrespectful courtesy of a good mood.

 _“Can we date ‘til it rains ginger ale?_ _  
_ _I can’t wait ‘til you taste my champagne.”_

“Wa-oo, wa-oo, wa-ooo,” Link vocalizes and falls into the song’s chorus, feet slapping the concrete in rhythm. The city unfolds before him—into buzzing highways and sprawling neighborhoods, all part of one long backdrop for his own personal music video.

_“Squeeze, ‘til you pop pop pop pop!”_

Take a left at the stop sign, veer off from the main traffic. Leisure past the cars that tap their brakes to point out the kid who apparently can’t feel embarrassment as he boogie-walks down the side of the road. Dance like nobody’s watching, ‘cause none of these gawkers know him. And if they do, they’ll know he’s the type.

Link’s groovin’.

_“Let me show you what you’re missin’.”_

Over the pedestrian bridge, offering a high-five to a cyclist saving their life insurance company thousands by staying off the roads. They relent with a toothy grin, and dang, if that isn’t the best feeling. He made someone smile. Onwards!

Thumbs secured on his pack’s straps, Link feels the eyes of the city on him as he strays through an upper-end suburb. It isn’t much of a “shortcut,” as the walk takes about forty minutes either way. But it’s a beautiful day, and he doesn’t want to miss out on the potential smell of fresh-cut grass and catching a glimpse of kids playing basketball in cul-de-sacs. Heck, he’d even gotten to toss their ball back to them once. That had been fun!

Yet the trail is oddly quiet today, and too soon his wind-down song is done, leaving Link with a sense of missing out. No one had waved hello from their front porch (another treat he partakes in, given the chance), and now he’s standing in silence on a lengthy stretch between houses where a dried creek funnels out into the woods on his right. He fishes his phone out to switch it over to the podcast.

A shorter episode today, but that’s fine. He’s happy it had updated at all.

His finger hovers over the play button when a flash of movement begs his eyes ahead on the sidewalk, and he whips his head up.

A cat!

“Hey there, kitty,” Link calls after it as it tiptoes to the treeline off the side of the road. When it falters and turns to scrutinize him with sleepy green eyes, he kneels and scritches his nails on the pad of his thumb. “C’mere, cutie. Want some lovin’? I’ve got opposable thumbs. They’re the best. I think you’ll agree.”

The feline lifts its head in a mock sniff of the air—humoring him, at most—before darting off into the woods. And maybe it’s something about having such an exceptional day, or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to miss out on another walk-home opportunity, but Link’s stuffing his phone in his pocket before he can justify _why_ he wants to pet the cat so bad in the first place.

Pulling his earbuds out and draping them around his neck, Link takes off after it in halting steps down the slope. Not too fast—scaring it won’t do any good—he bounds along after the little specter. Through trees and over crackling twigs and green leaves that have abandoned their branches a month too soon.

“Where you goin’, li’l buddy?” Link asks, even though he doesn’t have a visual on it anymore. Just foliage and grass and the dimming of engines as more distance is put between himself and civilization. “Kitty?”

He keeps going, holding to a thread of hope even after the cat has long-since blipped from his radar.

It had to be around _somewhere_. It couldn’t have disappeared… well. It could’ve climbed a tree. But the break from routine is welcome regardless, and Link halts to gather his bearings. If the cat is beyond his reach, perhaps he could still catch a glimpse of deer nesting down, or even a raccoon steeling itself for a trip to human-land to look for grub.

That’s when Link notices an inviting clearing up ahead through a break in the thick trunks. A spacious area with luscious greenery and a fat, low rock centered in it all. Maybe that’s where the cat had been headed? Seems like a good sunbathing spot, anyway. Link jogs and breaks into the grove, pausing to glance around.

He’s alone. Just the stone and the trees gathered around in a mock amphitheater.

Link reaches up to take his earbuds out—but, that’s right—he’d already done that. The plastic pieces jangle around his neck and punctuate just how _quiet_ it is in this spot of the forest. Like the air itself is muffled. Link strains his ears in a bid for any trace of city din.

Or birds.

Or wind.

Instead, all he gets is his own pulse threshing through his head, deep and clear enough to be underwater. Loud breathing from his lungs startles him in its ruckus.

“Weird,” Link whispers, a cacophony easily mistaken for a yell. It’s just a peaceful meadow, yet even birds aren’t gracing it with their presence. “Kinda neat, maybe. Interesting, at least.”

The only focal point available, Link hones in on the rock begging for attention. It’s not too big—maybe two feet by one, and he examines the landmark with renewed interest, footsteps thunderous on the plush ground.

Maybe it’s his imagination, but something about the placement of the stone feels very… deliberate. Like someone had come out here and bestowed it as a spot on which one could sit and think—perhaps having heard how absurdly noiseless this place was? Like a designated chair for meditation. The thought puts a smile on Link’s face, and to test his theory, he bends down and grabs the edge of the rock and gives it a tug.

It doesn’t budge. _Surely_ it’s not a natural formation. He’s just weak.

Only he’s not, dang it.

Determined, he pulls harder, digging his heels into the forgiving grass and hefting the weight in all the wrong places until the offending obstacle gives way. Clods of dirt plop away, and Link follows the movement, watches as they plummet— _“Holy crap,”_ he grunts, flipping the stone over onto its backside.

A tunnel reaches deep down into the earth, farther than sunshine will illuminate.

Dark. Rimmed with grass at its lip and plunging to a depth neither natural nor man-made. Crooked and jagging and larger than any animal native to North Carolina could possibly burrow.

Just… a chasm. Bottomless, by the look of it.

Link stares, vaguely grateful that it’s too tight for a person to slip into and get stuck in… ‘cept maybe a child. Shoot. Probably why it’d been closed off, this close to a neighborhood. He’ll cover it back up before he leaves.

But first!

He digs through a pocket and pulls out some change that glistens bright in his palm under the sun. Good thing he’d bought coffee on campus that morning. With nimble fingers he selects a nickel, stows the rest, and holds the coin above the hole. If there’s a bottom to this pit, he’ll hear it in the deathly quiet. So he lets go.

The nickel drops, vanishing from view. He counts the seconds that pass, spacing out to focus. But there’s no resounding verberation, no finality to sate his curiosity. It simply _never comes,_ and Link lets out the breath he’d been holding.

“Wow. Yeah, okay—we’re closin’ you back up, weird mystery hole.”

Moving it the second time is easier, and it doesn’t take long for the hazard to resume its nonexistence, the stone smothering it out like a candle snuffer. Link wipes his hands on his thighs and gives it a moment more of his time before turning to head back to the road. The welcome rustle of leaves under his feet breaks the silence as he navigates to the sidewalk, and he wonders what became of the green-eyed cat who’d led him into the forest.

Link pulls his phone out and pops his earbuds in. He finds the podcast, and just like that, the bizarre experience with the freeway to the earth’s core is forgotten as the serialized story of two men falling in love via voicemails whisks him away. He resumes his walk, occasionally closing his eyes to let the sun soak his lids.

_“Hey. Sorry, I must have missed you. Taking a nap, like you usually are this time of day. Right? Just like you. When the sun is at its highest, you fall asleep like a cat.”_

Man, Link wishes he could’ve pet that cat.

_“But it’s alright. It’s very sweet. Endearing, to be honest. I like that about you.”_

So sweet! Link’s chest flutters at the heartfelt affection. There’s a reason Damien is his favorite character—always so genuine and kind to RJ. People who wear their heart on their sleeve like that are the best.

_“S’a whole lot fuckin’ brighter out here than I remember. Christ.”_

Huh. Who was that? Link glimpses the screen, squinting.

 _“Listen—I wanted to invite you to a get-together at my place later tonight. Just some close friends. And trust me, I know how you feel about Pete, but he’ll leave you alone if I—”_ _  
_ _“Aw, fuck. Look at you. No. Lord Below, no. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”_

Someone is in Damien’s apartment? Is that Pete’s voice actor? Seems like bad production quality, to let the narration overlap like that. Link can hardly focus on what Damien’s saying. He stops and double-taps the podcast to pause it, looking at casting credits.

It shows the same three names it always has. Who the crap was the gravelly-voiced dude...?

“Hey.”

Link jumps hard. The voice is right in his ear as he stares at the double bars on the screen. The podcast is paused.

“You gonna fuckin’ ignore me forever? I _know_ you can hear me, you little shit.”

Jaw falling slack, Link spins in a circle, doing several double-takes at his phone. A phone call? Some kind of interference…? He tugs out his earbuds and stills, heart racing.

“Finally, some recognition. Was that so hard?”

The disembodied voice finds Link effortlessly. Low, against the shell of his ear—scratched and burnt at its edges, roiling with an energy Link can’t identify nor relate with. A drunkard, or a criminal. Someone about to mug him.

“Wh-Who _is_ that? _What the crap,”_ he breathes, twisting further. His sights stretch to the tops of houses nearby, to the canopy of trees in the distance. Is this a prank? How far can someone throw their voice? Forgetting himself, Link slings his backpack off and rips it open, fishing out his laptop. It had to be a—a pop-up playing sound on his browser or something.

“Wow,” the voice mumbles, bored, and Link opens his computer on the sidewalk. No programs are running, and his pulse races. “This is gonna be fun, ain’t it? You’re already halfway to the nut-house and I’ve hardly said a word.”

“Who _is_ that?!” Link begs again, shoving his computer away and hiking to a stand. He digs his fingers into his ears, checking for hell-if-he-knows—a Bluetooth, a microchip, a bug capable of human speech. “What the heck…” He slots the digits in hard, plugging out the outside world and feeling his heart gradually ease from its racket. Settling into the reassuring silence.

He inhales steadily, immune to the mindfuckery.

 _“Hey, kiddo._ S’that doin’ anything for ya?”

Except he isn’t, apparently.

With a high, shrieking warble and a recoil from himself, Link snatches his backpack and tears down the sidewalk, running for all he’s worth.

He’s hearing voices. Or… just one, maybe?

He has to get home to Mom and Dad. They’ll know what to do.

There had never been anything he was unable to tell them in the past, and this wouldn’t be any different. Link hears someone he can’t see, and he’s going to tell them, and they’re going to help. They love him. But… if he’d plugged his ears and still heard it? Maybe the rush is pointless, he thinks as he pounds the concrete, bushes and stop signs flying past, his backpack thrashing against him.

It’s inside his head.

And there’s no running from that.


	2. If You Give a Hole a Nickel

If Link had possessed the wherewithal to time himself on his sprint home, he would’ve been impressed with his performance.

He flies breathless across the front yard of the beastly white colonial, stumbles up the red brick steps to the porch, and slams against the front door, keys shaking to let himself in. The familiarity of the foyer sings of safety and security, and Link throws the entrance closed behind him before sinking to the floor, winded.

No time for that, though. If he pauses to think, the voice might come back. Take a foot if given an inch.

“Mom! Dad!!” His throat is too dry and the words tatter forced, hoarse. In the ensuing silence, panic creeps into Link’s chest and he sheds his bag and keys, pushing to stand. He lurches through the open-air living room, sparing glances at the leather couch and glass double-doors to the backyard. “I’m home! I _really_ need to talk to you!”

In the kitchen, his shoes clunk on the hardwood in an effective announcement to any others in the house that he’s done with class for the day. Unfortunately, it’s not the only announcement—a single sheet of small, white paper gleams on the black marble countertop of the island.

 _“No,”_ Link whispers, rushing over to collect it and speed-read. “No, no, no…”

 _Link,_  
_We’re going to meet with a client. Another last minute thing._  
_Text us what kind of pizza you want and we’ll pick it up on the way home._  
_Love you pumpkin._

“Aw, _crap,_ ” he groans, sliding the note away. Realtors. Always having to cater to the whims of home-buyers. Obedient as ever, he pulls out his phone and composes a new message to the family group chat.

He pauses, eyes flickering over the hearts surrounding his parents’ names before typing, _Whatever kind of pizza y’all are in the mood for is fine with me. Good luck on the sale!_ And then he hits send, clatters his phone to the counter, and stares at it.

It’s not like he can blow up their texts about hearing a voice. And he certainly can’t call them while they’re with a client—their work is important, and they take it seriously. Link included.

Well. He’s just going to have to live with the potential of hearing the voice again until—

“Been a while since I was last dragged anywhere like a sack of shit, so. Thanks, for that.”

“No!” Link cries, and before he can register what he’s doing, he’s pulled the largest of the kitchen knives from its dock and holds it trembling to his chest, back pressed to the fridge. “Go away! _Leave me alone!”_

The deep timbre snorts—like smoothed stones clacking against one another—and Link can hear a smile on its imaginary lips. “A knife? What’re you plannin’ on doin’ with that?”

“Y-You aren’t real! You’re inside my head!” Link’s response cracks in the middle to jump up an octave.

“If that’s what you really think, then I hope you’re not implyin’ you’re gonna stab yourself in the skull. I’m into lots o’ weird shit, but spendin’ the next five years with your corpse sounds _incredibly dull.”_

Link’s brain stops.

His arms go limp. The butt of the knife hits his leg as he melts into a thousand-yard stare, useless and unable to process that his _hallucination_ could make such an absurd, concrete promise. “What…?”

“That’s what you paid for, right? I can double-check, but I’m pretty sure—oop!” The definitive sound of something small and metal bouncing off of the hardwood demands Link’s attention, and his eyes dart around to catch the source. There’s nothing. “ _Fuck._ Dropped it. Hang on. Where’d it go? If it’s under the fridge, I’m gonna need to borrow a ruler.”

“...Dropped what?” Link dares. The knife quakes in his tight fingers.

“Here it is!”

Bizarre, how the vocalizations remind him of embers smoldering and the crackle of fire all at once. Evidently the human mind is capable of some freaky stuff. And to top it off, it was now providing sound effects for the invisible intruder: a tiny scrape—something being picked up.

“Gotcha. This… yeah, you paid me a nickel.”

“I _paid you…?”_

And then Link’s watching a footage reel of himself in the forest. Digging out change. Dropping a coin into the earth. The moved rock, the bottomless pit, and the—

“Are you that cat?!” Link’s tone is drenched bewildered, and there’s resounding silence.

Unbelievable. He’d identified it.

Surely his synapses had snapped; he’d been so obsessed with following and finding that cat like a scavenger hunt prize that his psyche had hiccuped upon not locating it and giving it a pat or two. It had been the last straw before he’d shattered—the, uh… last straw on a day that had been otherwise amazing? Hmm.

Never mind. None of it matters. Link’s question hangs in the air, liberating and unanswered. Naming the invasive persona had banished it. He leans back against the counter and his lids fall shut, lets the knife shake free from his hand with a belabored sigh of relief.

_“Did you just ask if I’m a fuckin’ cat?”_

Link’s eyes bolt open into nothingness.

“Y’know, I was gonna ask if I _look like a goddamn cat to you,_ but that would’ve given _your_ stupidity a run for its money. We gotta fix the whole ‘I can’t see you’ thing as soon as possible.”

Okay—if there’s one step Link absolutely _does not want to take_ , it’s letting this mental plague go unchecked to the point where he can _see_ what-in-god’s-name is talking to him—in his head, that is. ‘Cause this isn’t real. Not really happening.

But… gracious. In the meantime—he’s holding a conversation with it, isn’t he?

It’s a back and forth. It’s responding to him, and he seems to be able to _learn_ things from it. Like the fact that it isn’t a cat. And that he’d paid it a nickel.

And that it’s planning on staying with him for five _years_ thanks to that nickel?

Link swallows hard, steadying himself with a heavy grip on the countertop. Maybe there’s something to the identification idea he’d had? Perhaps he’d just done it wrong. Giving it a title or naming the entity might make it easier to handle… right? Like diagnosing a sickness? Or at least it might make it easier to describe to a therapist. Oh, gosh.

“What… what _are_ you, then?” asks Link of the empty kitchen, feeling every ounce as dumb as the invisible assailant seems to think he is.

“Hmm,” wonders the voice in a nagging cluck. “I wanna be surprised that you cut a contract and have no idea what the fuck’s going on… buuut I kinda assumed that was the case when you ran away screaming like you were in the sixth circle.”

Contract. Sixth circle.

The phrases swim in Link’s brain and produce connotations for a singular, larger concept that he can’t begin to comprehend.

Not on this plane. Not as a hallucination.

“I think the flavor of the month—and I could be wrong, human language sucks ass—is _demon.”_

Alright. This is a nightmare.

Link’s head wobbles on his neck as his gaze slips to the floor, eyebrows tented in severe concern. The dam is broken, and there are rules and conditions to this existence he’s tripped into. Whether it’s made up or a dream or even _entertaining the notion_ that the past half-hour has been reality—the information is there. Link just needs to ask for it. Apparently.

“You’re a demon.”

“Yep.”

“And I paid you with a nickel, which buys five years of… what? Servitude?”

“Uhh, _technically,_ but don’t use that word. There’s some wiggle room. Piss me off and I’ll slit your throat with that knife and carry your carcass around for the remainin’ time.”

“Great. And you’re real, but invisible?”

“Correct again! Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“Okay,” Link nods, smiling. “Hey, would you mind telling me where you’re standing so I don’t run into you?”

“Run into me? Where we goin’?”

“I need to vomit.”

“Ah. Yeah, I’m leaning against this door—what is this, a pantry, I guess? Steer clear if you’re gonna hurl.”

“Got it.”

“Yep.”

Link bee-lines to the living room with purpose, heads up the plush-carpeted staircase, turns down the long walkway towards his room, enters, veers to the bathroom, and empties his stomach into the toilet in shivering retches. It’s coffee and scones from lunch. When he’s done he wipes his mouth with toilet paper and flushes it down.

At the sink he cups water in his shaking hands and rinses his mouth out—splashes his ghastly face to rinse the acrid sweat away. His reflection stares back at him, sickly and perturbed as droplets fall from his wet bangs. It’s a mere ghost of the window-version of himself he’d seen on campus.

“You done?” It’s from the doorway, and this time, Link doesn’t flinch.

“I… I think so.”

“More questions, then. Come on. I hate the introductory phase.”

Link hesitates, looking over to the empty spot where the demon’s allegedly standing. “Can we—let’s sit?”

“Sure,” relents the abomination, and it seems to step farther away, giving Link pause. “Are all humans this fragile these days, or just you? Never had someone get sick just from _talkin’_ before. Usually it’s the stuff that comes after that makes ‘em puke.”

“Wait… you really _aren’t_ in my head,” Link marvels, following the voice. He can track it as it moves, the origin of decibels floating around his room. “How come I could hear you when I plugged my ears, then?”  
  
A harsh laugh fills the room—coal being grated. “Dunno if you’ve noticed yet, but I don’t really follow human rules. I ain’t _in_ your head, but you’ll always be able to hear me. Plug your ears all you want—I’m speakin' to your _soul_ , bozo.”

Link paces over to his large bed, giving the talking area a wide berth along the way. He sinks down and digests the information, picking at his fingernails.

“I could still be crazy. Imagining you, even if you seem cognizant.”

 _“Psh,”_ the demon scoffs. “Fine. I’ll prove it to ya. Where you want me to sit?”

Failing to see how proof could relate to furniture, Link glances around his room. The bookshelf full of framed photos of his high school friends who’d moved away to attend other colleges. The trunk at the foot of his bed. The hammock pinned in the corner where his eggshell-blue walls meet, recently emptied of stuffed animals that now reside in his closet. The thing is sizable enough. Probably.

Gulping, Link gestures to it. “There.”

“Really?” There’s a pause. “What about that armchair?”

Oh. Yeah. Link turns to look at his “clothing chair,” where he dumps laundry when it isn’t yet dirty enough to warrant washing. It’s stacked high at the moment, and he considers it for so long that the demon growls.

 _“Fine._ Guess I’ll climb into _this goddamn thing.”_

Before Link can apologize or protest, the hammock moves, and his entire body bucks back, shocked. “Holy crap!”

“Yeah—” the demon grunts, rearranging, the mesh struggling, the nails holding it up bending just slightly under the very new, very real weight. “See? I’m not your imagination. If you don’t believe me, I’d be happy to climb back down and _really_ show you.” Link shakes his head vigorously, the threat working like a charm. “Great. Now can we move past the pleasantries? Fuck’s sake,” it spits. “You really had to be this clueless, didn’t you?” There’s an uncoiling sigh like flames doused as the hammock stills.

“...Y-You, uh. You comfortable?” Link weathers with a tight frown, watching the bulging yet empty thing.

“Not gonna lie—better than that time I had to sleep on a futon for a whole year.”

Well. Link doesn’t know how to respond to that, even if it _is_ a joke. He shifts, folds his hands in his lap. “Can I ask some more questions?”

“We’re tethered. Have at.”

That’s as good a jumping-off point as any.

“What d’you mean, ‘tethered?’”

“I mean,” the demon starts, shifting—and Link can almost _see_ the way its netted outline turns to face him, “I physically can’t be separated from you while this contract’s active. When you decided to lose your shit and run home like a horse slapped on its ass? You _literally_ dragged me. I wasn’t jokin’ about that.”

_“Oh.”_

“Yeah. So if you wanna not chew up my backside in the future, that’d be great.”

“Couldn’t you—can’t you run?” Link asks, and immediately regrets it when the air on the far side of the room swelters heavy, radiating something wet and terrible into his stomach.

“I can, when I’m not being _dragged by the ankle,_ you fuckin’ ass! Ripped my feet out from under me!”

“O-Okay! I’m sorry!” Link pleads, and the aura tamps down just enough for him to take a reaching inhale. That was… unpleasant.

“Ugh.”

“Uhh… what else,” Link asks himself quietly. Without missing a beat, there’s a sardonic echo.

“Yes, _what else_ could you possibly want to know about me?”

“I… is there a way to break the contract we made? Like, can you just—gimme back the nickel so I get a refund? And you can be on your way, back to your… hole?”

Even when his new company is invisible, Link can _feel_ the withering scrutiny on him. _“No._ You’re welcome to try, though. I always say ‘no’ and that’s never stopped any of my other tethers, so.” The hammock wiggles in a shrug.

“Tethers,” Link murmurs. “How many others have you had?”

“A lot. Next question.”

“Um. So… that’s just it? For five years, you’re just… here? Having trouble wrapping my head around that part.”

“You’ve given me no reason why I shouldn’t be dreading it just as much as you are at this point, believe me. Christ. Next question.”

Five years. Link’s brain can’t even begin to comprehend that, and so it doesn’t. _One step at a time,_ he reminds himself, the same mantra his Mom carries when she’s stressed. Maybe it’ll sink in. Eventually. If it’s true. Just… not right now.

He frowns and rubs his shoes together, racking his brain. “If I paid you for a service, then what all can you do?”

“Hey, _now_ we’re gettin’ somewhere!” The tinge of excitement should perhaps make Link feel better, since the bitterness is gone—but if this is a _demon,_ excitement can’t mean anything good. His fears are founded when the entity lists off their amenities: “I can set things on fire, cause illness of choice, steal shit, force emotions, get secret information on just about _anyone_ , shapeshift, kill folks, curse others, possess bodies, raise the dead—”

“Okay!” Link chirps, every muscle locked rigid. “Oh, gosh.”

“What? No more? For your information, I’m proud of my resume.”

“No, it’s…” Link swallows. “ _Extensive.”_

“And all of it’s at your disposal,” the demon reminds him languidly, tone dropping low and dripping coy with temptation. “Any of those things? You command it, I’ll do it.”

“Wow. And… you only cost a nickel for five years of _all of that?”_

“Yeah. Why, izzat bad?” Its tone grows thoughtful. “Y’know, we don’t keep up with inflation rates well in hell. Logistics of it are fucky.”

“It’s not a _great_ rate to charge.”

“Eh. No one’s in it for the money, anyway. It’s all about the _fun,”_ the voice quivers, and Link suddenly feels like he’s speaking with something far more beast than human, curled up in a stuffed animal hammock in the corner of his room.

He bites his lip. “Do you ever, like, _need_ anything? Food, or…?”

“No. Anything else you’d like to know before I stalk you for a fourth of your life?”

Face twisting, Link shakes his head. “Humans live longer than twenty years. Seems like a lot of your information’s dated.”

“I meant your _remaining_ life.”

“What?! I’m only nineteen!”

The demon cackles, ethereal and booming, and Link’s expression pulls taut in renewed sickly disquiet. “Am I joking? Am I serious? Ahh, I missed this.”

“Riiight. Funny.” Link tries to will the lump in his throat to go down. When a sound trickles through the house and he hones in on it, he realizes it’s his phone ringing in the kitchen, and— _Mom and Dad._ “Shoot! Hey, stay here, and I’ll be—or… wait. You gotta… come with me, I guess. Right?” He rubs his neck apologetically.

There’s a huff and the hammock bounces slack. “At the very least, I need a heads up when you’re ‘bout to move. Lead the way, bozo.”

Link does, glancing over his shoulder at nothing as he guides them back down to the kitchen. “And you’re always gonna call me ‘bozo,’ huh?”

“Well, considering that you’ve been askin’ me questions since you so graciously hauled me into your house, and yet _somehow_ the inquiry of my _fuckin’ name_ still hasn’t popped into your head, I don’t see why that’s not fitting. So, yeah. Just returning the courtesy.”

“Oh!” Link stops and swivels, and there’s a testy growl of someone being forced to pull up short. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know demons had names. What’s yours?”

“Jesus, you apologize for _that?_ This shift is gonna be a nightmare,” it groans. “Vaz’gorhett.”

“Vazz-go-ret?”

“Y’all butcher helltongue,” it mutters in exhaustion, somehow enough to make Link feel guiltier than he already does for inconveniencing this… thing. “Close ‘nough.”

“D’you have a nickname, then? I don’t wanna mess it up constantly.” Link scans the air with a squint. It’s no use, but his brain won’t stop firing off messages that he _should_ be able to see where the words are coming from. “A shortened version of your name?”

“That’s disrespectful between demons, so no. But if _you_ wanna give me a nickname, I can’t stop you.”

“How about just ‘Vaz?’”

“That sounds like ‘vag.’ Pass.”

Link’s face sinks, scandalized. Goodness gracious. “Then… what about just ‘Rhett?’”

There’s a sharp sigh. “You totally missed the word ‘gore.’ S’right there in the middle and you purposely skipped over it. Really had the chance for somethin’ special, there.”

“I’m not having a companion named ‘Gore’ for the next half-decade,” Link insists, a bit of his patience ebbing. This is a lot to come to terms with—he likes to think he deserves some slack. “So, Rhett’s okay, right?” When the demon doesn’t say anything, Link shakes his head, searching the nothingness before him in empty gesture. “Am I actually insane? Hello? I imagined my hammock _moving_?”

“Rhett’s fine, bozo.” The response isn’t as heated as Link expects it to be, and a strange sense of gratitude floods him—briefly, until his phone starts ringing again.

“Dang it, they’re gonna think I’m dead, or—I gotta get that,” Link blathers, taking off down the stairs and drawing a noise of surprise from the demon as it hurries after him, trying to stay on his heels. He gets to the counter and snatches his cell, glancing back at the empty room behind him. “Call me Link.”

“Sure.”

With seconds to spare, he takes the phone call. “Hey, Dad! Sorry about that. I was in the bathroom.”

His father’s deep baritone comes across and instantly smooths some of the ruffled feathers of Link’s anxiety—a voice of love, earthly and comforting. _“No worries, buddy. We were getting worried about you, is all. How does Hawaiian pizza sound?”_

“Sounds great,” Link offers, trying to imagine his parents in the same room as this evil he’d unwittingly invited to live with them.

_“Good deal! How was your day?”_

“It was really good,” Link lies. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

Normally, the idea of family dinner would cure even the worst of times. But his mind is elsewhere—suddenly hyper-aware that he’s being watched. And if there was any grain of truth to what the disembodied had told him thus far, he wouldn’t be alone again—not even for a second—for quite some time. Past college graduation, at the very least.

Unnerved by the stillness of his house, something dreadful and cold bubbles up in Link’s gut.

He can’t see Rhett. But he knows he’s there.

Watching every movement.

Waiting for instructions.


	3. More Ventured Than Gained

“Link, welcome. I’m Doctor Dreyer, and I’m going to be speaking with you today. Is that okay with you?”

The psychiatrist settles into the leather armchair across from him with an ease that only makes the tension in the room heavier. She rests her clipboard on her lap and from it retrieves the slotted pen, clicking. When her soft eyes and reassuring smile rest on her new patient, Link squeezes his knees together and does his best to return the levity.

“Yeah. Thank you for meetin’ with me on such short notice.”

“Well, of course. It’s not often that students call in with self-proclaimed ‘emergencies’,” she nods in a way that suggests Link might physically break if she does _anything_ in a rush. “Before we start, do you mind if I ask what your pronouns are?”

“He, him, his.”

Link glances back at the door, knowing that Dr. Dreyer is probably watching his every move like a guard. This office is small. There are motivational posters on the walls, a scenic photo of a warm, grassy field, and on her desk among neatly organized books is a model of a human brain. Something about it's off-putting—but in all likelihood, that has everything to do with the entity waiting just outside and nothing to do with her profession. Nor the fact that this is the first time Link’s seen a mental health specialist in his life.

“Noted. So, Link—is it alright if I call you Link?”

“That’s my name,” he forces cheerily.

“Very good. What brings you in today, Link?”

How to even start? His jaw twitches as he tries to think of a good way to breach this. When nothing comes, he lets out a nervous laugh and looks to the gray threaded carpet.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

“You’d be surprised how often I hear those exact words, Link. I promise I won’t think you’re crazy.” From her desk, Dr. Dreyer produces a pair of spectacles and slips them on. “The human mind is capable of some truly wild—and sometimes _terrifying_ things. But I’m here to help. Anything you say will not leave this room. We have a ‘do not discuss’ agreement with all of our students—your parents won’t be contacted, unless we have reason to believe that lives are in danger, of course.”

And what if they are?

“Right. Okay.” Link nods and keeps nodding as he speaks. “Yesterday, I… I started hearing a voice in my head.”

“So sudden,” Dr. Dreyer notes with a hint of sympathy. “Not unheard of, though. Are you hearing the voice right now?”

Link lets his concerned gaze fall back to the floor. “It definitely hasn’t gone away.”

“Hmm.” Dr. Dreyer’s face remains neutral as she writes something, and already Link is regretting seeking professional help. All of this is going to lead to a diagnosis and then further to medication. It’s going to have a paper trail. A solidified history he can re-read to remind himself that _this_ is his new normal. “Is there any chance you’ve been experiencing increased stress lately, Link?”

Link spares another peek at the door.

 

* * *

 

The knife had been put away, his backpack and keys collected from the foyer, and he had even set the table to expend some of his anxious energy. Cloth napkins at every seat. Space enough left in the center for an open pizza box. Empty glasses awaited whatever drink his folks wanted with their meal.

They were going to be home any second. And then the three of them were going to have dinner with a demon sitting only feet away.

“I need you to be quiet while we’re eating and talking,” Link implored, scoping out the space to guess where he might be lurking. “Afterwards, when we go up to my room, you can talk all you want. I promise. I just… need this to be normal. My parents _can’t_ know about you, Rhett.”

Link jumped when the response came inches from his ear. “You ain’t _normal_ anymore.”

“Rhett, seriously—don’t do anything to let them know you exist? Please?”

 _“Ugh._ Fine.” Rhett’s voice travels over to the far side of the kitchen, halting in the corner. “I’ll just be over here, then.”

It should have been perfect; unassuming and out of the way, no potential for tripping people. Yet hesitation nestled in the pit of Link’s stomach. “Rhett?”

“What?”

“How far away _can_ you go?”

“Are you shittin’ me? This corner—waaay over here, far from the table— _this_ ain’t good enough?” The irritation in Rhett’s tone was lined with something else that Link couldn’t clock without a matching facial expression. “What am I, a flea-ridden mongrel?”

“No!” Link wrings his hands and gestures to the living room. “It’s just—there’s nowhere for you to wait _comfortably_ in the kitchen. I thought that if you could make it to the couch, that’d be nicer for you. It’d make me feel better about askin’ you not to talk.”

“I’m _fine,_ prick. I don’t want your pity chair.”

“But—”

Then the front door was unlocking, and Link had to act like he’d just had a good time on campus and that his entire life hadn’t capsized in one day. Without another word to his haunter, he stood up straight and waited, trying to remember what his normal smile looked like and replicating it as best he could.

“Link?”

Mom. _There_ was his normal smile.

“In here! Welcome home!”

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, coming into the kitchen and shrugging off her blazer to drape on the counter. She fluffed out her curls and strode over to give him a careful embrace. “Hope you’re hungry. Dad’s got pizza.”

“Oh boy.” The scent of his mom’s perfume dulled his nerves. When his father leaned in with their dinner and held it up, Link’s chuckle grew to a laugh. “The spoils!”

“Spoils of war!” Dad echoed in a mock battle cry. He shed his own blazer, set it atop his wife’s, and delivered the pizza to the center of the table. “Thanks for waiting on us, buddy. Let’s eat.”

Mom and Dad sat and began to decompress as Link poured them glasses of sweet tea from the fridge pitcher.

“An extra ‘thanks’ for getting the table set, Link, dear.”

“No problem, Mom.”

“So sweet. That’s our pumpkin,” she leaned over to Dad and elbowed him playfully.

Link passed a glance at the inconspicuous spot Rhett occupied in the floor, face burning in blush. Not like he was going to ask Mom not to call him that anymore, but… yeesh.

Napkins in laps and pizza on plates, Link cleared his throat. “Did y’all make the sale?”

“We did,” Dad nodded, speaking around a mouthful of ham and pineapple. “It was a big one, too. Maybe this weekend we can go out to celebrate.”

Mom clapped. “Ooh, I hear there’s an arts festival in Cary on Saturday! How does that sound, Link? You want to go?”

Link locked up.

Normally, he would have said yes without missing a beat. But now—whenever he RSVP’d to anything—it was always going to be with a _plus one._ Anywhere he went, evil incarnate would come with him like a problematic friend he had to watchdog. How would a demon behave at an arts festival? Booths of expensive, handmade creations into which artists had poured their labor of love. Crowds and live music, probably. Children everywhere. _Yikes._

Mind racing, Link busied his mouth with tea as a buffer, then hummed. “Actually,” he set the glass down definitively, “I kinda have plans this weekend.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah—this girl on campus invited me to a meet and greet for freshmen. I told her I’d be there.” Link failed to mention that the icebreaker was on a different night.

“Hey! That’s exciting!” Dad beamed, patting Link on the shoulder. “Was she cute?”

“Dad… I’m pretty certain she was _required_ to hand me a flyer.” Link rolled his eyes with a smile. “But, yeah. She was pretty.”

“Well, you should go to that! Don’t worry about us, love,” Mom beamed, stroking Link’s arm. “Who knows? Maybe you really will meet someone there! Breathtaking, funny, with kind eyes and a smile that captures your heart…”

“I _know_ you’re describing Dad.” Link chewed on the crust of his slice. “I’ve heard this story a million times. College sweethearts—trust me, I remember.”

“Well, if you do meet a guy or a girl and they feel special, just keep that in mind, then,” his mother sing-songs, side-eyeing him as she pushes a second slice onto his plate. “Sometimes tiny moments can end up turning your whole world upside-down.”

Outwardly, Link’s smile didn’t budge. He nodded and ate, desperate not to let those words break through the shell of normalcy that had formed over dinner.

Everything was fine. If this dinner was any indicator, whatever Link was going through didn’t _have_ to tear his life apart at the seams. It was going to be okay. Just the three of them, enjoying each other’s company the way they always had.

“Thanks Mom. Love you.”

“I love you too, pumpkin.”

_“Oh, my lord below!”_

Link jolted hard in his seat.

 _“I can’t take this anymore!_ This _is the real Hell!!”_

Link’s heart socked his ribs in an attempt to skip gears from neutral to overdrive.

Eyes wide, he waited. For his parents to freak out, for them to run screaming from the house, to ask Link if he had a guest over he hadn’t told them about.

“Link?” his mother asked tenderly, voice full of concern.

It was coming.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Looks like he bit his tongue. Y’okay, sport?” Dad inquired. He gave a quick wave in front of Link’s eyes when his son made no effort to respond.

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine,” Link mumbled.

Right in his ear, hot and taunting, Rhett spoke again. _“Gotcha.”_

His parents couldn’t hear Rhett.

Simultaneous relief and sickness coursed through Link’s arteries, and he carefully set his napkin down by his plate. “Sorry, guys. I’m suddenly… not feeling well. Think it’s my stomach.” In an attempt to sell the act, he clutched his abdomen and gave it an exaggerated stroke. “May I be excused?”

His parents looked at one another in mild surprise, but his Mom flashed a concerned frown and nodded. “Of course, baby. I’ll come check on you in a while, okay?”

 _“Yeah, baby. Where are we going? Up to your room, pumpkin?”_ Rhett dripped the words into Link’s mind, flushing his face hot and red as he mumbled a ‘thanks, sorry,’ and excused himself from the kitchen, listening to his Dad’s regretful words over his shoulder.

“I knew the pineapple was a bad idea. Dang it.”

 

* * *

 

“Yes,” Link confirms, tearing his gaze from the door and back to Dr. Dreyer. “Yeah, I’ve been stressed because of the voice.”

_“Y’know, ‘bout a hundred and fifty years ago they would’ve already split your head open to extract the evil… then wondered why you’d died in the process. No foresight, those shitwits.”_

He struggles to tune the demon out, straining his focus on the session.

Dr. Dreyer squints and cocks her head in a way that makes Link feel very much like a poorly-written book. “Okay. And what about _before_ the voice started? Were you very stressed then?”

“Actually, yesterday had been amazing up ‘til that point. I was in a great mood.”

The way Dr. Dreyer pauses doesn’t fill him with confidence. The walls seem to get closer as she glances from her notes to Link’s face—sketching out a psyche from a model who looks all wrong. A sweat breaks out on his back as the silence prolongs, and after some time, she simply _ahems_.

“And what about your living situation?”

“What about it, doctor?”

“Is it comfortable? Are you—” She hesitates, and Link wonders how often she has to foray into this line of questioning and what it means that it’s more difficult for her to address. “Are you eating regularly?”

“Yes, and yes. I live with my parents, and I eat every day.”

“I see. Is your house clear of hazards? There aren’t any… sanitation, or _safety_ issues at home?” Dr. Dreyer is tiptoeing now, not saying what she means. That can’t be a good sign for a psychiatrist.

 _“Tell her that you’re tethered to a demon,”_ Rhett cuts in.

His voice isn’t muffled this time. Link’s gaze ekes over to the shut entrance, staring wide-eyed and— _how had he gotten inside the room?_ Can he just… phase through matter? The idea sends a shiver up Link’s spine.

Though, maybe it shouldn’t. Assuming Rhett is a) real and b) capable of possessing human bodies and projecting emotions onto mortals, why should being able to walk through walls surprise him? It’s just another… unholy, unnatural thing that defies the laws of the universe.

His eyes flick back to Dr. Dreyer, who’s watching him with concern clear on her features.

“Take your time. But if you’re in a dangerous living situation, Link, I’d like to know.”

“No!” Link fumbles and straightens in his chair. She straightens as well, taken aback. “No, everything at home is fine. I promise. Parents are great, house is clean, I’m eatin’ food—Mom and Dad are realtors, so stuff like, uh, radon and carbon? They track that stuff real closely at home.”

He wishes he could say that had popped into his head out of convenience, but Link had actually spent time considering it last night. He’d read stories online, after all, of people getting into some seriously messed up situations over different types of air poisoning.

That isn’t the case for him.

“You could say it’s a hobby for them, obsessing over a safe home.” Link laughs when Dr. Dreyer doesn’t say anything. “Weird. Weird realtors.”

Her pen scratches secret commentary while Link watches, tied to the butt of it. “What about your sleep patterns? Have you been… sleeping, pretty regularly?”

“Uhh…”

 

* * *

 

Link sat up in bed, surveying his seemingly-empty room and heaving a sigh. He’d only just said goodnight to Rhett after a lengthy conversation about how nobody else could hear the monster.

Still, the demonic outburst at dinner had upset him enough to twist and roil his innards, and he’d spent a long time in the bathroom after pardoning himself from the table. Thankfully, Rhett hadn’t intruded or made a peep about the humiliating development. Maybe some fruit was just too low-hanging after centuries spent with mortals.

Fingers curling into the hem of his comforter, Link whispered, “Hey, Rhett?”

“Trust me—you don’t want a lullaby. My singing makes human ears bleed.”

“No, that’s not—oh, gosh. I was wondering where you are?”

Rhett definitely wasn’t in the hammock. That much was obvious in the night-light’s glow.

“Can’t you tell?”

The response was teasing, and yeah, Link had an inkling, but he _really_ hoped he was wrong. He tugged the comforter up to his chest in a bundle, frowning into the dim room.

“Are you standing at the foot of my bed?”

“Guilty.”

“Rhett, _why?_ That’s so freaky,” Link shivered, clutching his blankets. “You _have_ to know how terrifying that is.”

“What? Is it?”

“Well, what are you _doing_ while you’re standing there?”

“Nothin’. Watching you.”

“Exactly! Don’t you have like—like a hobby or something?” begged Link, squirming as his stomach tossed for the second time that night. “You don’t have to watch me all the time. _Especially_ when I’m sleeping.”

 _“You’re_ the hobby, kiddo,” Rhett said matter-of-factly.

The simplicity there made Link’s cheeks hot. Made him feel like a pet being ogled, a hamster in a cage on a wheel for an audience who desired a trick. But in his case, doing said trick meant causing something disastrous and awful to happen all for the whimsy of cruelty, and Link ended that train of thought right there.

“Why don’t you go to sleep, too?” he suggested, glancing at the hammock.

“Huh. I’ve never tried it, but honestly, going comatose for hours at a time isn’t all that appealing.” There’s a shuffling sound Link can’t identify. “Doesn’t it make the whole ‘me watching you sleep’ thing easier if you can’t see me?”

Now _that_ raised a slew of other thoughts Link hadn’t been prepared for: no, because he would still know that Rhett was there; somehow, that made it even worse; and, eventually, there might be a point where he _could_ see Rhett.

There was a potential future where he would wake up in the middle of the night to a demon lording over his body, eyes wide and fixed and waiting. That was how every night of his life would be until the contract was fulfilled.

 _“Please_ give sleeping a try.”

“You say ‘please’ too much. You hired me, idiot. Get rid of the damn pleasantries.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Why not.”

There was a beat of silence before a loud thud reckoned the bedroom, and Link started, face screwing up in confusion.

“Rhett… get off of the floor."

“Was I that obvious?”

“Seriously, don’t sleep on the floor. You’ll wake up sore, and then you might never wanna sleep again.”

A grunt announced the demon returning to his feet. “You’re _really_ against me watchin’ you all night, huh?”

Link nodded aggressively and patted the free half of his bed. “You can even bunk with me.”

 _“What?_ Oh, Link... I had no idea, you dirty little— _”_

“To _sleep!_ What beds are for!”

“Thanks for that,” Rhett snickered, the sound burning Link’s neck, “but if it’s all the same with you, I’ll be in the hammock.” Sure enough, said hammock shifted to load with a body Link couldn’t see before it stilled and sighed. “So, what do I do?”

“What do you mean?” Link asked warily. He gradually allowed his head to sink back to his pillow, eyes trained on the beast’s resting place to watch for movement.

“How do I sleep?”

“The main part is _closing your eyes,”_ advised Link. “Just… close your eyes and think about stuff.”

“Fine.”

“Now… goodnight.”

“Hmph.”

Link’s body relaxed marginally as the silence stretched. If he let his vision blur, the room looked the same as it always had, and maybe—just maybe—there was actually a chance he could sense when he was being watched. Slowly, his paranoia ebbed away and was replaced with fog and slow breathing. He let his eyes flutter shut.

It was their first night together. Link could handle it. It would’ve come one way or another.

Unless he hadn’t tossed a nickel in that cursed chasm he’d found.

Too late for that, though. He turned and snuggled into his pillow, letting the beginning tendrils of rest grip and pull him down.

 _Everything_ took adjusting.

Everything was going to be okay.

“Y’know, you have no way of knowing whether I’m watchin’ you.”

Link’s eyes bolted open.

 

* * *

 

“Sleep was… difficult, last night,” Link admits, trying his best to hold Dr. Dreyer’s gaze. “But that was definitely because of the voice, too. Usually I get a solid seven hours, at least.”

At this, Dr. Dreyer removes her glasses and chews on one of the earpieces. “Interesting. Link, I have to say, I’ve been providing my services to students at NC State for fifteen years now, and I’ve never heard anything quite like this—assuming you’re being honest about your stressors, that is.”

There isn’t a word in that sentence that calms Link. He swallows. “Okay, so… what do I do?”

“I’m hesitant to start you on antipsychotics, Link, simply because you _seem_ to be functioning fine at this point. It’s true that you mentioned experiencing a bit of stress and that you lost sleep because of the things you were hearing…”

‘Things?’ It was just one thing, and it was a voice, and— _he seems to be functioning fine?_ He’d called in for an emergency appointment with her, didn’t that mean anything?

“But you’re also young, you’re physically healthy. Medication is a big step. It might be better if we wait and see how this progresses before making a leap like that.”

Link furrows his brow without meaning to. Whatever solutions he’s here for apparently aren’t going to happen, and crap, he _knew_ it would’ve been a long stretch. But _deal with it and see where it goes?_ That was her answer for him? “So I can’t do _anything_ right now?”

 _“Let_ me _do something, Link! Oh, fuck—how badly do you think she’d freak out if I morphed your face just a little?!”_

“No!” Link barks before he can stop himself, and Dr. Dreyer taps her pen to the clipboard.

With tight eyes she observes him. The gaze is changed; where earlier there had been sympathy, now instead lurks a predatory breed of fascination. When she speaks again, Link imagines himself in a straitjacket inside of a padded room: “Were you responding to the voice?” Her head cranes to look at the space Link’s been glancing at. Near the door, where his tether stands.

“N-No,” Link withers into his chair. “No, I was just—I’m just frustrated that there’s no easy solution to these kinds of things. Mental health—ahh! So fickle,” he chirps and rises to his feet with the singular purpose of putting as much distance as possible between the psychiatrist and himself.

And by extension, Rhett.

“Link, where are you—”

“I just remembered—I gotta get to class! But it was great meeting you,” Link babbles, giving her finger guns like that was something he’d done once in his life. “Good talk! I’ll, uh, monitor everything and—and make an appointment with the receptionist on my way out for a follow-up. Thanks!”

And before Dr. Dreyer can find her wits enough to protest, Link throws open the door and strolls out of her office.

 _“Oh, thank fuck. I told you, didn’t I? I’m real. No one’s gonna believe you. And the people who will? They don’t have your best interests at heart. Not like_ I _do.”_

“Mmhmmm!” Link keens high and stressed, waving to the receptionist on the way out as he passes her desk.

_“You’re stuck with me, Link. The sooner you let that sink in, the more fun this’ll be.”_

When Link makes it outside to the August breeze, he rounds the counseling center where no one else can see him, stoops under a shady tree, and doubles over onto his knees. He takes a deep, steadying inhale, and upon its release, screams words of disdain as his fingers tangle up into his hair.

“Oh, _fuck,_ oh _shit fuck shit!!”_

_“There you go, bozo. That’s the spirit.”_


	4. Psychology 101

With a yawn so powerful it quakes his extremities, Link stands off to the side of the busy hallway. Students file past without a second glance. It’s taking some getting used to—that for everyone else in the world, life is normal. Everywhere he goes, Link feels like he has a giant neon sign above him that says _I have a problem. Check me out._

But maybe that’s just a souvenir from his failed appointment yesterday. Exposed and nervous.

He takes out his phone and presses it to his ear. Rhett is somewhere to his right, and so he does his best to acknowledge him.

“Here it is,” he mumbles, throwing a thumb at the classroom. “Psychology.”

“I guarantee I can teach you more about psychology than some old fart who can’t see a foot in front of his face. And my methods would be _way_ more fun.”

Link closes his eyes, listening to the shredding lilt of the floating voice. The demon never does anything without an opinion. Never makes it any easier, doesn’t budge on his antagonization. Everything is a suggestion against the way things are. Just that morning, he’d put forth that they steal a little kid’s bike from quiet front lawn to get to campus. And as much fun as that sounds, to lug Rhett around on the foot pegs of a Paw Patrol bike, _no._

“Rhett, just… there’s going to be a _lot_ of this. Whether you’re with me or not, this is my job. I’m a student. Which means most days you’re going to have to stand quietly in the back of a classroom—for hours—and listen to any old geezer ramble on about whatever.”

A passing professor’s face pinches in outright offense, and Link gives a halfhearted, apologetic smile.

“Not to shit on your entire existence or anything, but you make me miss eternal torture.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t Hell. This is college.” Link hesitates. “Okay, for some people I’m sure it’s close. But not me; I care about this a lot.”

“You’re killing me, kid. I need sustenance. It’s been three days.” Rhett growls, standing Link’s neck hair on end. _“You’ve got a pet wolf and you’re feeding it lettuce.”_

“I—” Link drops his phone to his hip, gazing longingly at the ceiling. “I already missed all my classes yesterday. I can’t skip any more. We’re gonna be late. Just stick close to me, okay?” A begrudging rumble shakes Link’s bones before he leads them into the auditorium.

Psychology 101—full attendance of approximately 90 students.

Normally, Link makes an effort to sit as close to the front as he possibly can. It’s easier to hear, see, and if he needs to talk to the professor afterwards, the podium is just a hop-skip away. But having potentially-hazardous company means making sacrifices, so Link scopes out an empty chair adjacent to the door and takes a decisive seat.

“Oh, terribly sorry—am I in your way?” Rhett asks, mischievous voice looming close.

“Don’t stand there the entire time.” Link sighs into his phone, exhausted. He tries not to imagine which part of Rhett’s body he’d be looking through to see today’s PowerPoint. The seat to his right is taken, but the one to his left is empty, and he gives it a swift pat. “C’mon.”

“Can’t I sit in your lap, _pumpkin?”_

 _“Rhett.”_ Link rubs the bridge of his nose and hangs his head. “Please?” He occupies himself by taking out his materials as the empty chair beside him rocks, catching an unseen occupant.

Textbook, notebook, pen, and highlighters, all arranged on the desk meticulously. At the front of the room, below all of the students, Link’s professor is reading something at her desk.

“Wait, is _that_ your teacher?” Rhett’s tone goes high with interest. “She ain’t no geezer!”

Link cringes in distaste. “ _Doctor_ Johanssen. She’s the _professor,_ yes.”

“She’s a looker. Scale of one to ten, whaddya think?”

“I’m not playing that game.”

“She’s a bit older, but _damn._ I bet she’s wild in the sheets. Y'know? The nerdy ones always are. And I’m not talkin’ just women either—my door’s always wiiide open, hot damn.”

“You’re being gross,” Link objects, a frown tugging his features.

He checks the clock on the wall. Soon his phone will have to be put away, and he won’t be able to respond to Rhett at all anymore. Hopefully the demon will shut the hell up at that point, but… knowing him? Probably not.

“Seriously, level with me here—how many times have you blasted rope to the thought of that pretty little lady down there?”

“Rhett!”

“Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Johanssen begins, and Link drops his cell to his lap and shoves it in his pocket. “Today we will be discussing the reading that you all hopefully completed.” A few people chuckle. “Does anybody have any questions before we get started?”

No hands go up.

“Alright then. We’re going to go over the DSM-5 and its applications in the field of psychiatry.”

Link’s gut flips. Little too close to home.

“Its strengths and weaknesses, the stipulations for conditions to be included in the manual, and past versions of the DSM, if we have time.”

He spares a long glance at the empty spot next to him. Rhett’s probably staring back intently, hoping for instructions of some sort. The thought flushes Link’s face hot, and he eases his gaze out over the dozens of heads in front of him. The class is nearly packed to capacity. It’s amazing that he’d even procured a desk for Rhett.

For what it’s worth, he’s being quiet. Just like Link had asked. Credit where it’s due, right?

Not like Link’s paying attention, regardless. Dr. Johanssen is already clicking through to the second slide in today's presentation and talking about the classification of mental health issues as organized in the DSM-5. He focuses, taking advantage of his demon’s silence, and plays catch up.

Fifteen minutes pass in blessed quiet and Link’s fatigue ebbs away. He’s engrossed in the lesson, attentive and listening to questions his peers ask, taking notes he knows he’ll want to revisit later in organized boxes and stretches of neon.

The sneaking curiosity of how Rhett’s reacting to all of this nags at the edge of Link's brain. Hopefully it’s just a _bit_ interesting to him. Otherwise… well. Link really has no reason to feel guilty. Wasting someone’s time doesn’t mean anything if they’re immortal, does it?

 _Does_ it?

He scratches his ear as a guise to cock his head in the demon’s direction, and mumbles, “Thank you, Rhett.”

 _“Do a trick!!”_ Rhett screams at the professor, and Link’s heart leaps as hard as he does in his seat. He screws his eyes shut, hoping the classmate to his right won’t say anything. Rhett chuckles while Link attempts to soothe his pulse. “Just kiddin’, bozo. Gotcha again.”

“Oh, gosh.” Shaking, Link double-checks that no one’s turned around to stare at him and chews the inside of his cheek. When his eyes follow through and meet the concerned gaze of the young man on his right, he offers a fragile smile.

“You okay?” the dude whispers.

“Yeah. Cold chill. Sorry.”

“Ah.”

If pranks like that are the price to pay for Rhett behaving in class… it’s not like Link has much choice, but it could definitely be worse. He counts himself lucky when he imagines the alternative: a classroom full of people spontaneously combusting and trampling one another to run for the metal door. Which has melted.

Speaking of the door, it opens, and a disheveled, out-of-breath guy who’d clearly been running slinks in. He passes a cursory survey over the classroom and hones in on the "open" spot next to Link, shuffling over and slipping his bag from his shoulders.

“Missed my alarm,” he pants, motioning to the seat. “D’you mind?”

Link’s mouth falls open, but the question is rhetorical. Before he can so much as make a squawk of dissent, the guy flops down into the chair and crushes a grunt from Rhett. Link gawks in open horror, eyes flickering down to run along the seat of the chair—but there’s no space left between the stranger and the hard plastic.

Which would mean—

 _“Well, this is wildly uncomfortable,”_ Rhett strains.

Too many things Link wants to—no,  _needs_ to say to his tether dam up behind his teeth: _get up!—can he feel you?—don’t just sit there!—you phase through people?_ But of course, saying any of these would seem to be directed at the newcomer, and Link’s mind races to pick something that could serve the purpose for two conversations. There’s only one line he can think of.

“A-Are you okay?” he presses in a hush, and his late neighbor offers a small eye roll and nods.

“Just one of those days. Sorry.”

Link waits for the answer he really cares about.

 _“His heart is beating so fast.”_ The observation seethes from Rhett’s tongue.

The predatory drip of it...

Link should be packing his things now. Should be dumping everything back into his book bag and pardoning himself faster than he’s ever done anything in his life, because the aura that begins emanating from Rhett is heavier and more turbulent than floodwaters. But Link _can’t_ move. He’s locked in his spot, every fiber of his being parched and still while he monitors the guy sitting next to him.

Who, by the look of it, is suddenly not feeling well.

He’s pale. Sweat beads down his forehead. Lifts a shaking hand to his neck, leaves it there. Eyebrows knitting, sclera wide to stare into his own lap.

_“I can’t resist.”_

The rest of the classroom blots out—it’s just Link, this hapless victim, and the terrible energy his demon thrums off as _something_ happens.

Then it’s gone.

The student slumps and lets out a sigh of relief.

Link blinks, remembering only then to exhale. He leans over and nudges the stranger with his elbow. “Hey. Really, are you okay?”

The guy stretches his tanned arms, pulls his chin from his chest. His shaggy brown hair falls away from his brow, and his eyes swirl about the room and land on Link’s, tearing his breath from his lungs and turning his spine to ice.

They’re goat eyes.

Irises tinged fiery red that bleed out to gray around long, rectangular pupils.

_“Į f̷eel g̸r̷eat, p̥̭̞̟̯̰̜u͎̥̱m̗͡p̸͉̮k̪̳͚̥͕i̞̩n͇͎̼̪͟.”_

A scream very nearly escapes Link, but he strangles it to high whimper instead. The noise of several people turning to look at him registers in the back of his mind as he holds the victim’s— _Rhett’s_ gaze.

These are Rhett’s eyes. In this guy’s head.

“Sorry,” Link announces to no one in particular, vaguely aware that the lecture has stopped entirely. Dr. Johanssen is saying something—addressing him—but Link is busy sweeping all of his belongings into his backpack and zipping it halfway shut. He stands on knees threatening to betray him and send him buckling down the aisle steps in his rush for the door.

Rhett—or, the person Rhett is _piloting_ , Link notes with shitless horror—doesn’t move, just watches and raps his fingers on the desk as Link disappears into the hall.

Free, Link spins, chooses a direction, and sprints. He rounds corners hard enough to whip flyers on cork boards in his wake, to draw startled gasps from students trying to get out of his way as his sneakers pound the tiles. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but _away_ seems like a good start.

Rhett had fucking _possessed_ someone.

Sitting right there next to him, had slipped into his body like a macabre onesie and replaced his soul with something malicious. His eyes— _Christ,_ those eyes are never going to leave Link’s memory. He desperately hopes he’ll never have to see them again. So unnatural and... inhuman.

It’s only when Link hits a wall—winded, heart in danger of bruising—that he remembers the word _tether._ Panic renewed, he spins, expecting to have dragged the demon clear across the building.

There’s no one here with him in this corridor of professors’ offices.

He’s alone.

Maybe.

“Rhett?” Link asks the empty hall. He presses his back to the dead-end and hears his materials crunch in his pack. Slides down to the floor weakly. “Rhett, are you here?”

Even if he took a joyride in someone else’s body, the tether still worked, right? He hadn’t just snapped it and unleashed a demon in a body on NC State? Oh, god, _please_ don’t let him have planted an unchecked monster in the middle of a crowded classroom. Holy shit.

“Rhett?” Link begs again, voice cracking in its dismay. “Please be here. Please answer me.”

A heavy sigh. Link stills his breathing, ears ready to sprain.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Rhett mutters in dejection from somewhere in the floor before him, and Link could cry.

So he’d made an ass of himself in front of the entire class. Comparatively, that’s nothing. He would email an apology to Dr. Johanssen telling her he’d fallen ill during lecture, and that would be that.

Rhett hadn’t had time to do any real damage. That’s the important thing. That’s what matters. Link had pulled him away before he’d gotten the chance.

“Oh, _thank fuck._ Oh my goodness.” Link melts to the tile, staring up at the ceiling. If any professors are in their offices, hopefully they'll stay put while he collects himself.

“Yeah,” Rhett mumbles listlessly, coaxing Link to stare along his shoulder, scanning the tile and wondering where Rhett is in relation to him.

“Was that close? Were you—what happens when you… do that?” Link isn’t sure how any of this works, is tripping through the inquiry. “Do you get urges to, like… I dunno, go crazy? Start hurting people and breaking stuff?”

“I separated from him the second you left the room, bozo.”

“ _What?”_ Link sits up, trying to locate the source of Rhett’s words. He might not be able to see him, but he can still do his best to pay him mind. “You did?”

“Yeah. You didn’t want me in him, and you’re the boss. Shouldn’t have done it in the first place, but like I said before—I couldn’t resist. He was _sitting in me,_ for fuck’s sake. I only have so much restraint.”

Link gulps at the warm appreciation that courses through him. It’s bizarre, the gratitude that returns whenever Rhett follows his orders. Sitting in the corner during family dinners. Going to lie in the hammock when he’d rather watch Link sleep at the foot of his bed. Staying quiet during class.

He pulls his knees to his sternum and hugs them. “I guess I dragged you through the building, then. For no reason.”

“Humans,” Rhett snorts, but his normal bite is gone. “You’re all the same. I’m used to it.” There’s a fine lining of something there that Link’s scared to name… but if he has to guess, it’s akin to defeat.

And _that’s_ something he had yet to consider until now.

That Rhett is a being all on his own—with desires and needs, who derives pleasure from certain activities the same way humans do. Who’s trying his damnedest to go against what comes naturally for him.

Link had blundered into hiring him into five years of servitude, to do things that he’d been excited about (judging by the lift of his voice when he’d listed off his powers). And then Link had promptly clipped his presumably bat-like wings before he’d even had a chance to stretch them.

Rhett’s doing his best. He’s fighting his own nature just to serve a powerless idiot who took him out of one cage and stuck him in another. Cruel or no, he's trying. Demon or no, there’s… _something_ there. And that recognition slams Link square in the chest.

 _Maybe all humans don’t_ have _to be the same._

Link bites his lip. Clears his throat. “Hey, Rhett?”

“Mm.”

He pats the tile next to him. “Will you come sit by me?”

In lieu of an answer, there’s a shuffling slide as Rhett scoots across the floor, and a gentle thud from the wall as his back meets it. “Done,” Rhett clarifies, voice now close enough to whisper in the peacefulness. “Why?”

“Easier to talk this way. And I think we need to.”

“Goodie.”

“You said…” Link wiggles his toes in his shoes. “You said I have a wolf, and I’m feeding it lettuce.”

“That was a metaphor, dipshit. Not a wolf _or a cat._ ”

“I know. But... d'you remember the other day, when I asked if you needed food? And how you don’t need sleep?”

Rhett’s silence takes its time expanding before he intones, “Yeah?”

“Is there a chance that—that getting to do… _stuff like that_ ,” Link runs a hand through his hair, “could that be a ‘need’ of yours? Something that you _have_ to do? ‘Cause you said you couldn’t help it—doesn’t that mean you’ve been _needing_ it?”

“I don’t _have to do_ anything, bozo.” There’s a scratching noise that gives Link pause as he wonders what exactly Rhett’s doing. “Just feels good. It’s like a release. Like all this pressure builds up the longer I go without caving, and—shit. But it’s not like I’m gonna _die_ if I don’t get it. So I wouldn’t call it a need.”

“But it—it feels good, right? Maybe that’s all that matters,” Link muses.

There’s a shift in the energy between them, there at the end of the hall. It twists in the air around Link, piqued and curious. A dog’s tail wagging cautiously. A glimmer in the eyes of a child who dares to hope for gifts. It’s palpable, and it lifts Link’s chest—makes everything lighter just as Rhett’s electric whisper finds his ear.

_“What are you saying, Link?”_

The human swallows. Focuses down at the spot Rhett’s occupying and lets his eyes travel up. When his gaze is level, he wonders if they’re looking at one another. Wonders how close Rhett is—bent over his shoulder? Leaning in conspiratorially, eager to hear where he’s going with this?

“I got us into this mess,” Link starts, blinking and searching the empty air. He nudges his glasses up. “And while I don’t feel comfortable subjecting other people to you, maybe… maybe I can help out, from time to time.”

 _“Oh?”_ Rhett simmers. It’s low and interested and Link imagines those goat eyes on him, hazed with some breed of temptation. He continues, despite the heat of his neck.

“Maybe I can give you that stuff. Let you—possess me, or figure out smaller, _less harmful_ things you can do for me. Stuff that doesn’t hurt anybody. I know it’s not _exactly_ what you want, so it’s not perfect, but—it would be something. Right?”

The stillness that follows makes Link second-guess his offering. Had it been condescending? He’d thought that it was a good middle-ground for the two of them; a way for neither to sacrifice everything for the other. A way to live in (relative) harmony for the next five years. Is he wrong?

“Rhett?”

A deep, trembling sigh nuzzles the shell of his ear, warm and quiet. Grinning.

_“I’d like that very much.”_


	5. Control

Textbooks scatter forgotten across Link’s bed; not like he's going to be getting anything done anytime soon. Instead, he’s laying betwixt them on his stomach, head buried in his crossed arms, feet kicking bored at the ceiling as another idea hits him.

“Can you do my homework for me?”

“Fuck no,” the hammock says definitively. “What do you think I am?”

“A being who’s been alive for a very long time—”

“Understatement.”

“—who’s had the opportunity to learn just about everything?”

“Just ‘cause I _could_ do that doesn’t mean I have or will.” Rhett stretches and his resting place rocks. Link can envision a leg tossed off the side to sway back and forth lazily. “Not like trigonometry has a use in Hell.”

Every time Link believes he’s coming to terms with living tethered to a demon, Rhett always manages to break through that acceptance with nonchalance. Earlier, there had been a fascination and appreciation for the fact that Rhett was at least humanoid; he was roughly the size of a person, and seemed to have all the same appendages from what Link could glean. He wasn’t some Biblical abomination, like a head surrounded by arms or a ball of tentacles. Weird thing to be grateful for.

But now, the casual mention of Hell as a real place—like it was a condo in Aspen that Rhett liked to visit?

“Oh, gosh,” Link breathes, and burrows into his arms harder. He’ll… try to unwrap that later. “Can you list off your powers for me again? One at a time, so we can comb through them?”

“My pleasure,” Rhett smiles.

The energy in the room lightens the same way it had in the hall on campus. Being able to _feel_ Rhett’s excitement about dark deeds is nothing short of nauseous… but this is all for his happiness, so Link’s just going to have to get used to feeling sick.

“Murder.”

“Starting with the big guns.” Link lifts his head to give his best steadfast stare to the space where Rhett is. _“We are not killing anyone.”_

“That’s why I led with it—so you could shoot me through the heart now rather than later. Cruel bastard.” Rhett hums through an overly empathetic ripple of guilt that laps over Link’s mind. “Raise the dead.”

Link hesitates. He can’t afford to miss any opportunities here. If relief is possible and found somewhere in the nooks and crannies of these sins, he needs to explore that.

“What about animals?”

“You’re asking if I can reanimate creatures? Just to be clear?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the fuck would you need _that?”_ Although Link can’t see him, all too clearly he can envision those sneering goat eyes on him from across the room. “Got a childhood dog out back and some closure issues?”

“No, but, like… if there was some roadkill on our walk home one day or somethin’, would it feel good to let you...” A swallow. “Like… _play_ with it?”

 _“Wow._ I don’t know whether to be impressed that you’d suggest somethin’ so disgusting or to give you nightmares tonight for thinking I’d _want_ to do somethin’ like that in the first place.”

“Please don’t give me nightmares,” Link groans and rolls over on his back. He fishes underneath his ribs and pulls out a highlighter to toss it aside. “I’m just spitballin’ here. And that’s a ‘no’ on the roadkill idea, then.”

Rhett’s tone lilts up. “Ehh.”

“A maybe?”

 _“Anyway,_ I can also curse people.” The hammock jostles, and when Link’s tether speaks again, it’s attentive and excited. “And _bullshit_ if you say you don’t need anyone cursed. I know humans. Y’all are vindictive little fuckoes. There’s _always_ a grudge to be exploited when it comes to social circles.”

Link squints at the ceiling and chews his bottom lip, thoughtful.

“C’mon, bozo. Throw me a bone. Ever been cheated on? A teacher you hated? Bullies? Oh, yeah, you were _definitely_ bullied when you were younger, weren’t you?”

 _“Rhett,”_ Link warns, even though there’s not an ounce of him that could dole out punishment if he needed to.

The demon’s not wrong, is the thing. Maybe that’s why it hurts.

“What kinda curses are we talkin’ about here?”

“See? Knew you’d cave. They all do.” Rhett’s happy purr rubs Link in all the wrong ways. “Anything you want. Curses let you get creative, and that’s what makes ‘em so damn _fun._ I can give them chronic misfortune, I can make everyone they love leave them, I can make it so that they piss themselves _every time they sit down to eat._ Dealer’s choice.”

Link allows himself to dream up the breed of revenge that would be fitting for his experience.

Unpleasant memories of having his fingers slammed in textbooks by boys with wicked smiles, too-short hair, and braces. Of being pushed into mud on a rainy day during a fire drill, and the tinny laughter that had cut through him. A friend-bordering-acquaintance who’d sat by him before homeroom and asked _why_ he was being harassed, because _“They’re nice enough to me. I don’t understand why they don’t like you.”_

Link had. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve.

But that had been years ago. He’s not the kind of person, he likes to think, that would ruin people’s lives for mistakes they had made when they were younger. The bullies whose names he most prominently recalled? They’d likely had rough home lives. And hopefully they’d gotten the help they needed.

Reformation and rehabilitation doesn’t include a curse.

“Maybe we can come back to that.” Link knows Rhett’s going to bicker before he’s finished speaking, and sure enough, the demon goes limp with defeat.

 _“Fuck,_ Link—you’re skippin’ all the best ones! I’m offering you entrees and you’re askin’ for the appetizer menu!” The whine in Rhett’s voice is pathetic, but when the complaint is met with silence, he growls a sigh. “I can make people sick.”

“Let me save you some time,” huffs Link, chancing a glare over the foot of the bed. “If it _hurts_ someone? We’re not gonna do it.”

“ _Ugh._ I can start fires.”

“That still has potential to hurt people.”

“Oh, lord below—so it’s _my fault_ if people are too stupid or slow to get out of the way of a fire’s path?!”

“Indirectly, yes! ‘Cause the fire wouldn’t exist without _you_ starting it.”

“Good to know your philosophy courses are payin’ off. Your parents must be _so proud.”_

Rhett’s scorn rolls off Link’s back as he thinks, thrumming his fingers on his stomach. “Can you light candles and stuff? Small things that are s’posed to burn?”

“...Fuck. Maybe the refund thing really will work. You think it’s too late?” Rhett muses. There’s the tiny twang of a coin being flipped and caught. “Yes. I could light _candles_ for you, Link. You’ll have the best damn bubble baths around before I boil the water you’re soaking in because I’ve been reduced to _lighting candles.”_

“I—I’m doin’ my best, Rhett. Calm down. We’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, in between the tap-dancing roadkill and Link’s self-care regimen, I’m definitely gonna get my fix.”

“Well I don’t hear _you_ making any suggestions!” Link sits up and turns to glower in Rhett’s direction. “Why’s it all gotta be up to me?!”

But the testy attitude is returned tenfold—Rhett snarls so bestial that Link flees to the headboard of his bed.

“Because _you paid me!!_ I don’t know what’s so fuckin’ hard to understand about this— _you’re in charge!_ I’m providing a service, I can’t just exist here without any reason! Humans provide vices, demons step in and help them. That’s how it’s always been— _why don’t you have any vices?!”_

There’s suddenly a very real possibility that Link’s parents will _feel_ Rhett’s presence in the house; he’s rumbling the entire room. The fury sparking and crackling off of him winds its way through Link’s brain and digs its claws in, heating him in turn. The fear he’d felt seeps away, and he leans forward to speak in a low, shaking timbre, the ire there unfamiliar to his own ears.

_“Shut the fuck up, Rhett.”_

It’s instant.

The air is sucked out of the room and the anger leaves Link in a dizzying vacuum of emotion. He blinks, swaying just so between his hands on the bed. It’s quiet. Rhett doesn’t say anything. The hammock is still.

Link inhales deep, lets out a fragile breath.

“Rhett? I’m sorry.”

The demon doesn’t answer.

“I have vices. I’m just not willing to hurt other people because of them.” Link runs his hands through his hair and pulls off his glasses to massage his eyes. “I would really appreciate it if you helped me think of ways to let you stretch your wings—” Gosh, Link hopes Rhett doesn’t actually have wings—“so that we can both be happy. Benign stuff.”

He waits. Gives his companion time to mull it over.

Nothing. Not even so much as acknowledgment.

Link melts into a frown. “Is… is this because I told you to shut up? You can talk, Rhett.”

But the silence just stretches further, and Link begins to feel very much that he’s talking to himself.

“I’d like it if you kept talking to me, Rhett. I can’t do this alone. Can’t even remember your other powers. Got, uhh… kinda fixated on the darker stuff the first time you listed them off.” He waits and gives the other an opportunity to jump in. “Please…?”

The hammock whips and goes slack, and the sound of Rhett crossing over to Link’s bed makes the student’s muscles lock up in fear. But then in front of him—plain as day—the highlighter lifts into the air and uncaps itself. Link watches, mesmerized as the cap drops to the comforter and the marker hones in on the open page of Link’s notebook. It writes in fat, sloppy letters.

_COMMAND MY NAME, BOZO._

Link reads the words three times before the request sinks in. Running a tongue over his lips, he does so. “Rhett—speak.”

 _“Jesus Christ,_ finally.” Leaving Link no time to be amazed, Rhett tosses the highlighter at him and sinks onto the foot of the bed. “If you command me to do something, I can’t stop until you give explicit instructions. So drop the goddamn pleasantries! If you want me to do something, _command_ me to. S’easier that way.”

Link stares at the marker in his hands before reaching blindly for the cap and returning it to its home with a click. “I don’t like making you do something you might not want to do, though.”

“Guess what? I don’t have a choice. And the sooner you adapt to having control, the easier all of this is going to be. ‘Cause right now, I’m sure as shit not having a good time.”

Well, that would be fine if Link hadn’t been trying so damn hard to accommodate a guest he hadn’t asked for—how’s he supposed to know not to throw coins into weird holes in the ground? “Okay. Fine,” Link sighs. He swiftly clears off the bed and points to the space in front of him. “Rhett, sit here.”

Wordless, Rhett obeys—the bed sinks down and leaves a crater. Must be sitting cross-legged.

“Now… will you please help me think of a solution to this? Something that wouldn’t make you feel—I dunno, belittled or demeaned?”

Rhett growls long and low. “That wasn’t a command.”

“I’m not going to _boss you around_ all the time. That’s not the kinda relationship I wanna have.”

“Whatever. Have it your way.”

A small divot appears in the covers, and Link watches it move back and forth over the bed. Rhett tracing a lazy finger, perhaps? Link still hasn’t had the time to process that moving physical objects apparently includes being able to pick them up. Maybe he’s just getting used to the weird stuff that comes with having a demon as a roommate. No complaints there. _Less_ freaky shit sounds great right about now, actually.

“You’re going to a party this weekend,” Rhett states, and Link’s brow knits in confusion.

“I am?”

“That’s what you told your parents the other day.”

“Oh! Yeah, the, uh, the icebreaker? I dunno if I’d call that a _party,_ but—”

“And you’re interested in someone who’s gonna be there?” Rhett prods further.

Link falters and cocks both his head and an eyebrow at the little divot of Rhett’s finger. “Oh, gosh. Now you, too? _All I said_ was that she was pretty. I literally don’t even know her name.”

“I could help you with that.”

Okay. Whatever Rhett is offering, Link needs to be absolutely crystal clear on, because he’s already got a bad feeling about this. _Tread carefully,_ he reminds himself.

“What d’you mean…?”

“I can make you real impressive to her,” Rhett elaborates calmly, and Link notes the tinge of boredom there with a flare of embarrassment. A professional humoring a lummox.

But he _is_ suggesting it. So it _would_ be rewarding to him. At least a little.

“I—I really don’t wanna do the whole ‘manipulating emotions’ thing, if that’s what you’re talking about.” Link hopes the face he pulls illustrates just how disgusting he finds the idea. “That’d be fucked up.”

“No, that’s definitely _not_ what I’m talking about.” The elucidation is so insulted, Link tries to look at up Rhett in surprise. He can’t, of course, and before he can ask if Rhett would feel _bad_ doing something like that, Rhett’s saying more things. “I can tell you about her. What she’s like. What her family’s like. Stuff she’s into. Her—shit, I dunno, favorite flowers? As much or as little information as you want—on everybody at this thing, not just this girl—the entire night.”

A hint of something playful and dark hazes Rhett’s words, and his voice gets close. Link leans away instinctively, blinking.

“You’d be a goddamn socialite. Charismatic. Instantly liked. The upper hand in every. Single. Conversation. Not one dull moment.”

“Uhh… wow,” mutters Link.

“No one gets hurt. You benefit. I get to be of some goddamn _use,_ finally.”

“So what, you can just read minds like,” Link snaps, “ _that_ , or...? No touching, or arson, or inducing insanity…?”

“Actually,” Rhett eases off, giving Link a bit more breathing room, “been meanin’ to talk to you ‘bout this, anyway; I need a book.”

“A book…?” Strange. It wouldn’t have been in the top five things Link would’ve guessed for prying into people’s personal lives. “Like, a specific one, or…?”

“No. Any book’ll do. But _you_ have to be the one to give it to me.”

There’s already something about this of which Link is wary. He’d read enough stories in literature and history classes to know folklore of trickery and deceit—especially when it came to humans giving gifts to otherworldly beings. He errs on the side of caution. “Rhett, tell me exactly what you need the book for.”

Almost no pause comes between his command and his tether’s explanation. Instant obedience, like requesting information from a computer.

“If I get a book, I can replicate it and use the book I make as a source of information while I’m on earth. Anything you need to know, I can look up inside. It’s kinda part of the deal. An invaluable part, actually. Helps me answer a lot of my _own_ questions.” There’s that smile in his voice again.

It’s good to ‘see’ him in decent spirits.

Though… when _Link_ has to look something up, he doesn’t use a book. Not these days. “Can you replicate anything?” he asks curiously.

“Yeah. Why? S’not for you. I can steal for you though.”

“No, I know, just—I have an idea.” Link grasps his smartphone and holds it up, only to withdraw the offering. “You ain’t gonna damage whatever I give you, right?”

“No. I don’t want a _phone_ though, Link.” A hint of contempt returns, and _this_ is the Rhett he’s grown used to, like it or not. Thorns and all. “Who the hell would I call?”

“It’s not just a phone,” Link explains as he pushes the offer out to nothingness. “Trust me. When’s the last time you were with humans?”

“I dunno. Y’all are like ants building cities up here, I don’t pay attention to time. Maybe… wait, when were measles big?”

“They’re makin’ a comeback,” Link notes dryly, shaking the phone. “You’re gonna love this.”

“Fine.”

The device is pulled from his hand and promptly vanishes. A few seconds later, it reappears and plops on the bed beside Link.

“Now what?”

“Just… play around with it a little,” Link promises. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of technology. Especially demonic technology.”

There’s the sound of tapping, a swishing noise, and then: _“Ohhh.”_

Link chuckles and scratches his nose. “Yep. Have fun. Should find it way more helpful than a book, when you need to look stuff up.”

“What the shit, thisissocool,” Rhett mumbles in one quick go. More tapping. “The others are gonna flip when I bring this thing back.”

Oh. Well, hopefully that doesn’t have catastrophic consequences. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Hope it’s handy at the icebreaker.”

“Wait—really?” Rhett’s voice goes wispy, and the room falls still enough for Link to hear his own heartbeat. When he simply smiles, Rhett plows on, “Link, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. Let’s plan on it.”

A single, loud clap in the space between them startles Link. An unmistakable aura wraps him up almost instantly—bubbly, overwhelming, excited.

_Happy._

“Yes!! _Fuck yes!_ ” Rhett celebrates, and Link can’t help the laugh that trickles out of his teeth.

“Yeah, congratulations. You worked something out with my stubborn ass.”

“Oh, shit—I’m so—I get to _do_ something! Link, I—I’m gonna do such a good job,” Rhett drawls, and Link’s eyes flick down to watch the crater of Rhett’s seat lift. He’s shifting. Specifically, he’s getting closer. Two long, slimmer indentations—knees and shins—close what little space is left between them, and Link leans away until his head bumps the board of his bed. He waits and holds his breath.

_“I can’t wait. You’ll be so proud. Gonna show you what I can do, master.”_

Master.

It’s right in his ear. It’s always right in the ear, Link notes, feeling the small, out-of-place smile on his lips pair with the—shit, is it welcome or unwelcome?—stirring in his gut. Rhett’s not doing it on purpose, Link knows. He’s just… sinful, and excited. Has a weirdly intense, intimate way of showing it. The mood radiating from him is unbearably positive though, and Link can’t help but blush and laugh as he motions to brush the demon away from his ear.

“Can you… control the aura?” he asks absently. Some part of him needs to know. Probably the part okay with having Rhett practically moan in his ear.

_“D’you want me to?”_

Why the daring inquiry makes Link blush from neck to chest is a matter that he doesn’t have the wits to unpackage in that moment. He swallows and nods.

“Rhett, don’t influence my mood.”

It’s like being plucked from warm blankets. He blinks and gazes around, the normalcy of neutrality returning. Rhett hasn’t moved though; he’s just sitting there, inches away, making a strange little sound not unlike a boat engine puttering along.

Maybe a conversation about personal space is overdue.

Or… Rhett is _his_ demon, after all.

Perhaps Link can learn to embrace it. It’d be one less thing to ask of Rhett. They seem to come naturally, the conspiratory pep talks. Just part of the territory. Maybe _they_ feel good, too.

Link can live with that.

He clears his throat, and the noise kicks up another notch. “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”

_“Leaving that guy’s body earlier was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I want more.”_

Something’s… _off,_ with Rhett’s current mental state. His voice is slurred and deep, calmer than it usually is. Sedated. Is he really so deprived of being able to do what he was made for that even the _promise_ of it happening feels this good to him? Link’s brow furrows and he drops his gaze to his lap.

He was this thing’s—this _guy’s_ master. Link dares to wonder what all that entails.

Rhett can pick up things. People phase right through him—but whenever he _speaks_ , only Link can hear. The only human who has a chance of interacting with him. To offer some sort of… bond. Understanding.

Rhett’s _master._

Link swallows, fighting back the memory of the goat eyes in the classroom, and shifts just enough towards Rhett to make the droning hum bobble in curiosity.

He extends a hand that shakes more than it should. Or, hell, maybe it’s warranted. First—experimentally, just to double check—Link slowly dips his fingers down into the spot that one of Rhett’s knees is occupying.

Nothing. Just the dent of the blanket. He retracts the grope and takes a deep breath.

“Hey.”

_“Yes?”_

“Let me touch you, Rhett,” Link tries out the command, listening as the rumble revs up another gear.

Nothing happens. But the demon hasn’t moved. More importantly, hasn’t told Link that such a request is impossible. Link turns and cranes his arm up slowly, fingers flexing and twitching towards where the side of Rhett’s head should be.

And then they come into contact with an ear.

 _Human._ Normal, warm flesh. A soft tuft of hair behind it.

Rhett just looks like a person, then? With goat eyes, sure, but… the build alone gives him a shred of humanity, doesn’t it? Remembering his mission, Link reaches farther and gives him two caressing strokes above his ear. Praising and apologetic. Hopefully something a kind master would do.

“Thank you, Rhett.”

 _“Shit,”_ Rhett mumbles, calm and humming—an expletive from pleasure, not exasperation. _“Don’t thank me.”_

“I want to. I know you’re trying your best.”

_“Mm.”_

Link stares at the space his tether’s occupying. He should probably be concerned about that weekend, or the demon possession of that morning, or the goat eyes. Instead, he’s fixating on what Rhett feels like under the pads of his fingers; how unremarkable touching him is.

The word _comforting_ pops into Link’s head, but that—that’s only to be expected, right? It’s relief. Comfort of first contact going better than it could have, given that he hadn’t known what was going to happen. No immolation, no evil thoughts.

Gracious, the things he’s counting as ‘wins’ now. Finding victory in that he hasn’t burst into flames.

Suddenly exhausted, Link drops his hand from Rhett’s head. “It’s time for bed—to go to sleep,” he clarifies quickly, but whatever sneering dig the entity could’ve made is muffled under promises of fulfillment as he slides off of the bed. “Rhett, don’t forget to turn off the, uh, touch-you thing?”

“Yep,” is all Link gets in response before his demon shuffles over to the hammock and climbs in. The sound of a phone tapping resumes, but it probably won’t be enough to keep Link awake. He should let Rhett have his fun where he can.

Turning off his bedside light, Link adds, “Please don’t do anything too loud with that.”

“Psh.” Then, a moment later, “Night, bozo.”

“Goodnight, Rhett.”


	6. Icebreaker

“How do I look?”

“Mortal. Fragile.”

“How’s my hair?”

“Brown.”

“Helpful, Rhett.”

The lamp-lit reflection of the student center’s windows show a Link already regretting his choice of outfit. Rumpling the too-ironed button-up and untucking it from his jeans. Straightening his pastel bow tie with tugs this way and that. Flashing himself self-conscious test-run smiles that Rhett blessedly doesn’t comment on. Not verbally, at least.

“Remember—don’t stand inside anybody. If a person steps into your space, you gotta move. I don’t want you possessing people left and right if it happens to be crowded in there.”

“You realize it looks like you’re talkin’ to yourself, right?” Rhett’s close. Not as close as he’d gotten several times over the past few days, but near enough that Link can envision the demon hulking over his right shoulder in his mirror image.

“So? They’ll just think it’s a pep talk.” It doesn’t stop Link from glancing about nervously. They’re the only ones around. “Alright. You ready?”

The sound of a skateboard somewhere in the distance draws Link’s eyes to the dusky purple sky behind him.

“Rhett?”

“Thought that was part of the pep talk. I’ve _been_ ready. Waitin’ on _you_ , pumpkin.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Link groans, feathering out his hair one last time courtesy of nerves. “Weird, hearin’ you use Mom’s nickname for me.”

“Are we ever gonna go inside, or are you just gonna stand here preening to overcompensate all night?” There’s tapping of fingers on a phone screen and Link freezes, staring at the space that might be occupied beside him.

“How’s your battery? Don’t drain it before we even get in there.”

Replicating a charger and showing Rhett how to power his hellphone after _“It’s ignoring me, Link!”_ had been interesting, at least.

“Calm your tits. Battery’s full. I charged the thing all damn day.”

“Just checkin’.” Link spins on his heel. “Where are you?”  
  
"Right in front of you, bozo,” growls Rhett.

“Alright, listen—give me your eyes.”

_“What?!”_

“It means make eye contact with me!” Pausing to stare into the distance gives Rhett time to shuffle and align their sights while he grumbles about human idioms. “Am I looking at you?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, listen.” Link plops a finger down into his palm to start counting off rules for the evening. “Rhett, do not stand in anybody else.”

“You already said that! How goddamned stupid do you think I am?!”

“ _Also,_ mute your phone. The random clicking is weird. And distracting.”

 _“Shit’s sake.”_ Like a petulant teenager, the demon obeys and doesn’t try to hide his huff once that’s done. “Anything else?”

“Don’t mess with any food or drinks. And none of that—that screaming-in-my-ear-out-of-nowhere stuff. Not tonight, please. I don’t wanna shriek in the middle of a conversation.”

“I think the humor of it’s lost on you.”

“It’s not funny. It scares me. Do it wherever else you want, just… not once we go inside.”

“Ugh.”

“Sorry. But if I’m really gonna give you moments like this, you have to follow the boundaries I put down. Okay?” Link searches the air, grateful that no one else is around to watch him have an intense conversation with the treetops on the horizon. Rhett doesn’t respond. What his scowl must look like. “I… that’s all the rules I can think of for now. But they’re subject to change.”

Although it isn’t too much to ask, Link feels like he’s… _limiting_ Rhett, maybe a bit too much? The demon had demonstrated self-restraint in the past, after all. But it’s the first time they’re going to be working like this—the first utilization of his services together. Better safe than sorry.

Link lowers his gaze marginally under a veil of guilt.

“I really do appreciate that you thought of this, and that you’re gonna help me out.”

 _“Boo,”_ whispers Rhett in his ear, and Link startles into a grimace. “Gotcha.”

“Well, I hope that got it out of your system, ‘cause we’re goin’ in.” With one last check in the window-mirror, Link dusts himself off, nudges up his glasses, and leads the way to the double doors of the student center.

A spacious room filled with couches and a humming escalator welcomes them, along with a stand-alone whiteboard sign. A bundle of balloons are tied by their strings to the neck of the post, and on its board, someone (probably an art student) has drawn a red and black wolf pointing to the mouth of the escalator. A helpful speech bubble says _Mixer upstairs in Room 20A!_

“The fuck is that?”

“School mascot.” Link follows the sign, and Rhett scoffs from behind him.

“Shouldn’t it be a human?”

The escalator groans as Link steps on, and he turns to address the empty lobby. “Unless you wanna be dragged up this thing, I suggest you keep close.”

 _“Fuck.”_ The sound of plodding stomps catches up with Link, and soon they’re on the second floor and following a trail of balloons.

Not that the decorations are necessary to find the mixer; loud pop music is playing and flecks of party lights splash out and dance across the floor from the propped-open double doors, beckoning Link. Is he overdressed for this? It’s certainly louder than he’d been anticipating, for something as innocuous as an icebreaker.

“Oh?” Rhett’s tone piques. “Maybe this won’t suck as hard as I thought it would.”

“It’s… lively, ain’t it?”

“Don’t get me wrong: it’s still gonna suck.”

Standing in the threshold reveals a large room with several dozen people (all of which must be freshmen, Link reminds himself) milling about under an honest-to-god disco ball twisting on the ceiling. Long tables draped with white clothes host an array of food platters to the sides, and the laminate ‘wood’ floor in the center is where the crowd is most densely concentrated. A few folks are dancing. Nearly everyone has a solo cup in their hand and a name tag on their chest.

Now faced with a large gathering that doesn’t match the one he’d imagined, Link can’t seem to bring himself to enter the room.

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

That only serves to make Rhett emanate an upset that sags with _begging_.

_“You promised.”_

It’s true. He’d told his demon they would do this in lieu of… other things. Frankly, if the alternative is causing people to fall ill or orchestrating murders, getting over a bit of anxiety is Link’s best possible path. He strains to relax his fists and steady the rise and fall of his chest, scrutinizing the closest table that offers name tag stickers, markers, and cups.

_“Why are you so goddamn nervous?”_

Link winces at the accusation, ‘cause yeah. He’s small at the moment. If it’s to the point where Rhett’s noticing, then it’s more obvious than Link had thought. He digs his fingernails into his palms.

This is going to happen. He just needs a minute. Time to adjust.

“S-Sorry.”

 _“Mm.”_ Rhett leans in to speak softly. _“You’re the most powerful person in here, bozo. By a long shot.”_

There’s an aura shift.

The frequency of them as of late has given Link the ability to pinpoint exactly when they happen—it feels similar to the ground giving out beneath him. One emotion free-falls away and another slips into its place, a new air to breathe. Rhett’s words had been adamant, and when Link feels his anxiety smother out to a clean canvas, anticipation of anger knots his throat.

But a calm, collected surety is what fills him. A steadiness of self-worth and confidence.

_“Go show them what kind of person you are.”_

Why had he been clenching his hands? Link takes a moment to pop his neck before striding into the room. He approaches the table and gives himself a name tag and selects a cup.

“Thought I told you the other night not to affect my mood.” Link passes off the statement as curious mumbles while he scans for the beverage station.

 _“This is important.”_ Then, _“I won’t do it again.”_

“S’fine, Rhett. Thanks.”

A few students’ gazes find and consider Link as he goes to fill his cup from one of the clear coolers. He offers a friendly smile to those he makes eye contact with before turning his attention to the drink options. Fruit punch, tea, and water. Always a sucker for something sweet, Link opts for the fruit punch, and Rhett clears his throat.

_“There’s booze in that.”_

Link stops with his cup hovering below the spigot. “What?”

_“It’s been spiked. Just thought you should know.”_

“Are… you’re sure?”

_“Yep. I still think you should drink it, but I wouldn’t be much of a tether if I didn’t warn you about consuming shit against your will.”_

Link hesitates before shifting his cup over to the water spout. If Rhett’s disappointed, he makes no noise to indicate as much.

He’d only just arrived, and _already_ Rhett has bolstered him twice. Whether to be concerned about his own frailty as a mortal, or about the fact that someone had _spiked the punch at a freshman mixer,_ or about how Rhett’s help had been undeniably… well, helpful, Link doesn’t have time to decide before someone approaches him.

“Hey, I remember you!”

It’s the girl who had handed him the flyer.

Her satin brown hair is pulled into a ponytail that spills down over her shoulders in loose curls. Short but thick lashes frame her mossy brown eyes, and in her bright contrapposto outfit, she looks every inch ready for Spring break. She _had_ to have been cold on the walk here. It’s endearing, in a way.

“Oh, hey!” Link smiles and toasts his cup of water to her before glancing at her name tag. “Miriam. I remember you, too. Nice to officially meet you.”

“Same… _Link,”_ she reads, and then laughs kindly. “You’re such a snazzy dresser, I don’t think I could’ve forgotten about you if I’d wanted to! Nice bow tie.”

_“She’s being sincere.”_

“Thank you.” Link shoots a quick, irritated glance in the direction Rhett’s voice. “You havin’ fun so far?”

“Yeah, it’s great!” Her eyes widen and both hands clasp her cup. Link wonders what her poison of choice is this evening. “I mean, I know I _had_ to help organize it because I’m in student government, but honestly it’s such a blast. I’m a people person, so.” She bobs with a flippant shrug.

_“She wants to be a local politician. Start a grassroots campaign.”_

Does Rhett even know what a grassroots campaign _is?_ Any remaining doubt Link has that his partner in crime might be lying vanishes.

“Hey, that’s really cool,” he offers with his best grin. “In student government, good with people… you’d spearhead one heck of a campaign if you ever wanted to run for city coun—”

“Ahh, sorry—can you excuse me?” Miriam cuts in. It doesn’t take a demon’s help to figure out that she hadn’t been paying attention to a word Link had said; she’s fixated over his shoulder at the front door. “Just saw some newcomers and I’d hate to leave them to flounder. Enjoy the party, though! If you like it, I’d appreciate a comment on social media saying so! Just tag ‘at NC SGA.’ Thanks, Link!”

And without waiting for a word of confirmation, she’s off.

_“This is her job. Try finding someone who’s actually here to socialize.”_

“People can socialize while they work,” Link gripes, turning to scan the crowd. There’s a guy wearing dark fitted jeans and a nice Polo shirt, who’s lingering on the edge of a group conversation. He’s got a bit of stubble, neon green plugs, and a kind—albeit bored—face. “What about him?”

 _“One sec.”_ Faint taps on a phone screen sound off as Link waits patiently. _“Name’s Jake. He doesn’t like the music that’s playing. Prefers…_ indie _, whatever that means.”_

Huh. Link _does_ like the music that’s playing, even if it’s probably bubblegum by most people’s standards. But there’s a difference between combing people for conversation and using their own preferences not to get to know them, and it’s good to keep that in mind. “I don’t know that many indie artists. Can you give me another starting point?”

_“Yes. Let’s see… he wants to graduate in psychology.”_

Another red flag. While Rhett’s around, anyway.

_“And since you aren’t sayin’ anything, I’ll also tell you that he’s thinking about leaving soon. Looks like this kind of party ain’t really what he was expecting.”_

That’ll work.

“Thanks.”

_“Stop thanking me!”_

When the guy takes a drink and eyes the ceiling, slowly turning away from the group he’d been piggybacking, Link makes his way over as casually as possible. “Hey, Jake.”

Jake freezes mid-drink and stares past the side of his cup at Link for a moment. Then he relaxes with a smile and shakes his head like he’s snapped out of something. “Sorry. Sounded like you knew me for a second. Keep forgetting about the name tag.”

Link had forgotten, too. Whoops.

“Ahh, I’ve got good eyes. With these glasses, ‘course. I’m Link. Just tryin’ to meet people before I politely excuse myself.”

Teeth flash when Jake laughs. “I feel that so hard, man. I mean, I know it’s on campus, but this is _not_ what I’d imagined when a friend told me about it. Right? The music, the stickers, the freakin’ _veggie platter?_ Gimme a break. We’re freshmen, not middle schoolers.”

“There’s a veggie platter?” is all Link can think to say as he glimpses back to the tables.

“Ridiculous. You seem alright, though.” Jake lifts a finger from his drink to point. “Nice bow tie.”

Rhett doesn’t say anything this time, and Link wishes he would.

“Thanks. What kinda party were you hopin’ for…?”

Jake shrugs and swivels his head to glare out at the room with a disappointed stare. “I don’t know, but not this. Half the people here have their heads up the university’s ass. Goin’ here’s fine and all, but cool it. Know what I’m sayin’? Be normal for a day.”

“Sounds like you wanted something hosted by a Greek house.” Link doesn’t even know what he’s saying, really.

The song changes to a hit that seems to be blasting from radios everywhere lately, and a few people in the crowd shriek in delight when they recognize the electronic intro. _More_ than a few start dancing, and Link finds himself suddenly trying to hold a conversation in the middle of a crowd of energetic, possibly-inebriated bodies. He has no choice but to get closer to Jake to keep from bumping into folks.

“A Greek house?” Jake repeats, pulling a face. “Nah, man, they’re even worse. Just shoutin’ shit all night long about how great they are? Super obnoxious.” He moves to take another drink, scowling at the sea of dancers around them, but then pauses and looks at Link. “No offense, if you’re in a frat.”

“I’m not. No worries.”

“Yeah… you seem chill.”

In the twisting lights of the disco ball, Jake holds Link’s eyes for a moment. It’s an oddly close look to get from someone he’d just met, and Link can’t help but think that ‘chill’ is definitely something he’s not. It’s too hot from bodies in motion around him. Too near to this guy, who frankly, is pretty negative and judgmental thus far—and that's something he’d gleaned without Rhett’s help. Link’s train of thought dead ends when Jake pulls out his phone.

“Look… I don’t wanna go home with this being a total bust, right? At least if I get _one_ person’s number, it won’t feel like a wash.” Jake unlocks his phone and looks up at Link, waiting. “If you’re cool with it.”

Link’s never been good at telling people ‘no.’ Besides—Jake has a point. Thoughtlessly, he rattles off his phone number for collection, watching as Jake punches it in. Seconds later, his own phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Just texted you. Now you’ve got my number. Maybe we can… I dunno. Go to a less _kiddie_ party sometime. This just feels like a lock-in at a church to me.” Jake drains the rest of his drink and gives Link a salute before backing away. “Bye, Link.”

“Later, Jake.”

Link had gotten a guy’s number. A guy who's currently shouting to be heard over music, and shoving through people to escape the impromptu dance floor. A guy he isn’t even sure he’d clicked with… but Jake had felt _something,_ he guesses? And sometimes people aren’t themselves at parties.

If Jake texts him later, he’ll respond. Give him a chance.

“Alright then, who’s...”

Link freezes, staring off into nothing as it finally registers: Rhett hasn’t said anything in a long time.

Keeping quiet isn’t _wildly_ uncharacteristic for him, but for this long? And while Link had given his number to someone? There hadn’t been _anything_ about that course of events which hadn’t made him want to bring up more information? The guy isn’t going to sell his info, or…?

“Rhett,” Link inquires. It’s low. No one in the crowd hears him—they’re too enveloped in the music. There’s no response before the song changes and people keep dancing to the next top-40 hit. He spins in place, ears straining. “Rhett?”

Why can’t he hear him?

For the first time in days, Link is completely and totally alone in his own head.

The idea should be comforting. Enticing, even—to stand there and relish in his solitude and pretend he hadn’t purchased the company of a monster. But the longer the silence stretches, the closer the dancers around him revel, the faster his heart races.

“Rhett!” Link shouts, startling those nearest. He turns and turns, looking and— _looking’s no good,_ he remembers with a pang of dread— _listening,_ then. He can listen and—no, the music’s too loud. The heat is sweltering, but his chest is icy and cracking. Is he getting oxygen, still? Even if he were, that wouldn’t feel right either, and— _fuck,_ where is Rhett? Why isn’t he answering?!

People too dense. Air too far. Tether too taut.

_“Rhett!”_

This time it’s a scream. He pries through the huddle of party-goers until he reaches the edge and breaks away. He stumbles and finds the door and doesn’t stop even when he hears Miriam’s unmistakably concerned voice call after him, “Hey, are you okay? Did you lose someone?”

Link’s palms tingle and knees shake as he breaches into the hall. It’s quiet, but not quiet enough—not if he wants to be sure he can locate his companion.

He starts down the hall at a brisk walk. At the third conference room, he throws it open and marches in, not bothering to turn on the overhead lights. The door slowly shuts behind him and blots out the sound of the icebreaker.

“Vaz’gorhett!”

It’s silent.

“Oh, _fuck.”_ With a whimper, Link doubles over in nausea, head spinning and—

How could he have lost him?! It doesn’t make sense! They’re tethered, and he’d been _right there,_ and he _should be_ celebrating his privacy but instead he’s ill and panicking and Rhett’s gone. Rhett’s just _gone,_ and Link isn’t ever going to hear his tether again, and he must have done something wrong because _he's_ the master, a bad one that Rhett had never wanted to begin with, and—

_“Ah. Third room’s the char—whoa, what the hell?”_

Link’s heart stops beating as he listens, wide-eyed.

The next word is gentle. Worried.

_“Pumpkin?”_

Link cranes his head up, the movement pulling tears that hadn’t yet spilled to trail down his cheeks.

“Rhett?”

 _“What—why’re you—”_ Rhett’s close. In the floor with him, at least, leaning in and raking his eyes over Link’s curled figure, at most. _“What the fuck? Did something happen?”_

“I—you didn’t respond,” whispers Link, brushing the wet from his face and clearing his throat.

 _“I couldn’t hear you. You told me not to stand in people’s space. When that…_ orgy _started, I had no choice but to move to the side of the room.”_

Of course. What had come over Link? He’d totally forgotten about that stipulation, and then panicked like a needy child without their mother and bolted from the room. His tears run dry and he sits there, listening, profoundly stupid and relieved and grateful.

_“When you reappeared and called for me, I tried to get your attention. But it was too damned loud in there.”_

“Yeah… yeah. That makes sense.”

In the time between speaking, Link listens to his racing heart. Begs his blood to run clear of frenzy.

_“I’m not gonna—you… you know I can’t leave. Right?”_

Why is his tone so gentle? It hurts. It’s worse than being yelled at, or made fun of. It’s acknowledgment of how instantly-frail Link had become without his tether nearby.

“I know.”

 _Tether._ Maybe that makes it okay. Maybe the reason he’d lost it so readily is because it takes a mental toll on the human in the bond to be without their demon. Rhett wouldn’t know about anything like that, would he? That has to be it.

_“Do… do you need anything?”_

“N-No. I’m better now, I think.” Link pushes himself to stand in the lamplight spilling through the windows, casting the room in a weak yellow glow. It’s surreal, being alone with company again. He’s the only one here. Yet he’s not. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

_“Are you sure…?”_

Link chews the inside of his cheek. _He’s_ sure, but… for some reason, it doesn’t sound like Rhett is? Like he’s asking for himself, and wants…

Wants what? A swallow fills the silence, and Link furrows his brow.

“Rhett. Let me touch y—”

_“Done.”_

Dropping his gaze, cheeks burning, Link reaches out for Rhett. His touch meets arms first. Toned. Veins riveting pleasantly familiar skin. His fingertips trail up until he finds shoulders—complete with loose sleeves, interestingly—and Link has to take a second to acknowledge just how _tall_ Rhett is. He’d known the demon’s voice comes from above eye-level, but… gosh.

Rhett doesn’t say anything. There’s no biting impatience as Link falters and cocks his head to the side. He can’t see him, but he can feel Rhett’s eyes on him. Searing. Focused.

“Can… can I hug you?”

_“You don’t have to ask.”_

“I know, but—thought it’d be better, if—I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable—”

_“Fuck’s sake.”_

Rhett pulls him into a hug, letting their chests crash together and wrapping his arms over Link’s.

Link blinks, at odds with feeling something so real that he can’t see. Slowly, he lets his hands inch up Rhett’s back and return the embrace. When he squeezes, the demon squeezes back harder, and Link can’t speak even if he’d wanted to.

Rhett’s… soft? Not fluffy, or furry, as part of him had feared of a demonly form. But his muscles are welcoming and forgiving under pressure, and Link rests his head on Rhett’s shoulder without meaning to. He’s utterly human to the touch.

He’s also _warm._

_“Is this what you wanted?”_

Link lets his eyes close, the burn of relief making them water. It’s scary to admit how long he could stay like this. “Yeah.”

_“Good. Your heart’s not racing anymore.”_

“Oh, gosh.”

Rhett laughs, and Link takes that as his cue to pull away. The demon doesn’t protest.

_“Is there anything else I can do?”_

Geeze. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to remind himself that Rhett’s asking from a place of servitude and not care. He’d already forgotten once. Regardless, he gives the offer genuine consideration.

“Uhh… did you enjoy your time at the icebreaker? All—what, ten minutes of it?” Link chuckles weakly.

 _“It was fine. Felt pretty good.”_ He’d hardly gotten to stretch his powers. Weird, that he isn’t reprimanding Link for the early exit.

“I don’t like losing you so easily.”

The admission comes out of nowhere, and Link scratches the back of his neck bashfully. The other’s been forgiving enough thus far, though. And Link knows he won’t get snapped at for being weirdly open.

_“Mm. It’s hard for me to stay near you in crowds.”_

“No, I know. I just…” With a gulp, Link looks at his shoes, knocking the toes of them together absently.

It would make him feel better. It’s something else Rhett can help with.

“You once mentioned that there’s a way for me to be able to see you?”

_“Oh.”_

A minimal cue, but Rhett’s tone brims with surprise.

“I… I wanna do it,” nods Link, searching the air and hoping he’s somewhere near Rhett’s eyes—another thing he wouldn’t have to worry about if they fixed this. “Is it possible? Can we do that? I wanna see you. I hate not knowing where you are. I don’t—don’t want any repeats of tonight. It’s not right, that I can’t look over a room and find you. Just… please, Rhett?”

Rhett takes a deep breath, which rolls out in a growl that rattles Link’s core.

_“Beggin' to lay eyes on a demon, are we?”_


	7. Sight

The process of making a demon visible to their tether is one Link had assumed would be simple.

Words to recite, light some candles, draw a pentagram on the floor with a marker or his mom’s lipstick. Incantations repeated after Rhett, perhaps, in some kind of oath sworn. But as they sit at opposite ends of the bed—Link at the head and Rhett at the foot, facing one another and separated by Link’s laptop—expectations and reality butt heads.

“Wait.” Link’s fingers graze over his computer’s touchpad and he clicks to add yet another new tab. “Say that again?”

“ _Balm of Gilead._ Keep up,"Rhett repeats through irritation. Thankfully as Link types, his search engine autofills the correct spelling and sends him right to the Wikipedia landing page.

Link reads aloud. _“Balm of Gilead was a rare perfume used medicinally, that was mentioned in the Bible, and named for the region of Gilead, where it was produced.”_ He glances up in Rhett’s direction and hopes the exasperation on his face is legible. _“Some botanical scholars have concluded that the actual source was a terebinth tree in the genus Pistacia.”_

Rhett huffs and re-situates, shifting the covers. “You don’t need its history, dumbnut. Just gotta get some.”

“Rhett, did you happen to hear the words—oh, I dunno— _was, rare,_ and _scholars have concluded?”_ Link backs out to the search and scans over the rest of the results. “How in the crap am I supposed to find something like this...?”

“Not my problem. If you’re determined to see me, you gotta find some.”

“You’re sure…?”

“That’s what this list says.” Rhett’s referencing the information on his hellphone, which of course, Link can’t see. It’s an exercise in blind trust.

A website entitled _Express Herbs_ offers a bundle of Balm of Gilead, and with hope in his heart Link clicks on the ad and—

 _“Two hundred dollars_ for a pound of it?!”

“You don’t need a pound. Just a pinch or two will work.”

“Yeah, lemme just _call them up_ and ask if they’re willing to ship me ‘a pinch or two’ of this stuff. I’m sure they’ll be understanding with a ridiculous special request. Great idea, Rhett.”

“Wow. A little stress and ‘Pumpkin’ turns into ‘Jackass-O-Lantern,’ huh? I’m so proud.”

With an eye roll Link sighs and navigates back to the other tabs that are open. Devil’s shoestring: a root that’s only available through select, home-grown vendors. Eyebright: a flower that’s only sold in pill supplement form. Would cracking a capsule and pouring out its contents even work for a ritual…? Tobacco: the easiest to find, and even still, Link hates the idea of buying a pack of cigarettes for _any_ reason. He prides himself on never having done it before, and naturally he’s only made it a year past being able to buy it legally before that streak has to be broken.

“There’s one more thing, right?” Link requests in defeat. Totaling up the expenses makes his wallet ache in his back pocket. “Go ahead and lemme have it.”

“Mm. A tooth,” Rhett states. The boredom in his tone tears Link’s eyes from the screen.

“What…?”

“A tooth.”

“That’s—what in the world?” Slipping his hands under his glasses, Link rubs his face and lets the weight of his head rest in his palms, easing strain from his abused neck muscles. “You know what?” he muses, voice slurred from the pressure. “I bet eBay sells human teeth. Let’s just go and find out. Some ‘dark web’ stuff we’re gettin’ into, right here—”

Rhett snorts. The noise is familiar, and Link pauses, lets his eyes wander up in anticipation, staring at the far door of his closet. “What?”

“Not just _anyone’s_ tooth, bozo.” The smile is evident in the words, and Link covers his mouth with his hand and presses. When he groans, Rhett simply adds, “Yep.”

_“No.”_

“‘Fraid so.”

“I—I have to rip out one of _my teeth?!”_

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, yes.”

“Please also tell me you’re joking? That that’s not really what it says, and this is some sick joke where you’re just trying to trick me into disfiguring my mouth?”

“Damn.” The demon makes a noise like he’s sucking on his own teeth. “That would’ve been good.”

 _“Shit!”_ Link falls back onto his pillows and traces his lips with a finger. They’re in a deep frown.

“I almost forgot—humans don’t regrow those, do they?”

It’s misdirected anger, but he shoots his best glare over the top of his laptop. “Not after their adult ones come in!”

“Huh. Yeah, that’s tough. So, either you pick a tooth—”

What would Link even choose? A molar would be… oh, gosh, _difficult_ to remove, to say the least—but it wasn’t like a canine or incisor would be any less traumatizing.

“—and find a way to remove it—”

Images of taking a pair of pliers to his own mouth without any anesthesia flash through Link’s head.

“—or you have to deal with me being invisible for the next five years.” The bed bounces gently. “You don’t gotta decide right this second, but a choice is gonna be made either way.”

“Fuck, Rhett.”

“Y’know, you’ve started swearing a lot more since I met you. I’m tallying that as a victory.”

Still feeling up his own features out of anxiety, Link runs fingers over his eyebrows and winces at the bruise-like discomfort in both of them. Stress and eye strain. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“Even if I’m able to go through with this, I’ll be _missing a tooth_ for the rest of my life. Way past the time your contract expires. I’d—I’d have to explain it to my parents, and they’d want me to get dental work done… I’d have to come up with an excuse for how I could’ve _knocked one of my teeth out!”_

“Yep.”

“Rhett, you’re not being helpful!”

“What do you want me to do?!” Done with being a scapegoat, Rhett snarls, and Link winces against the headboard. “This is how it’s done! I didn’t write the fuckin’ rulebook of occult! None of my other tethers who did it _bitched_ about it nearly as much as you have, either—even the ones who went through with it!”

Link’s eyebrows throb when they tent with soreness. “Y-You’ve had tethers do this before?”

“Duh. You think you’re the first to freak out about not knowing whether I’m real?”

Face pinned in hurt, Link tugs off his glasses and hides in his elbow. “Rhett, that’s not—I _know_ you’re real. You wrote in my notebook. I’ve felt you. That’s not what this is about.”

Rhett’s quiet—pondering a question Link doesn’t want to give him space to ask, and so Link pushes on.

“How did your other tethers do it? How’d they pull their teeth…?”

A laborious sigh fills the room between their words. “Well, there was one who’d lost their tooth by happenstance in a bar fight while we were tethered. Said ‘fuck it’ and performed the ritual, since it was convenient. But… the others just had _me_ do it.”

Link sits up, rapt. “Wait. You can do it?”

There’s a hesitation before Rhett answers, “Yes.”

“How? How do you do it…? I mean, I know it’s gonna be painful as fuck either way, but—”

“I would reach into your mouth and yank it out.” It’s times like now—where Rhett’s too quiet to gauge his breathing, not speaking as much as he usually would—that emphasize just how much Link needs to be able to read his expression. “You wanna do it that way? Came to that conclusion awful fast once you heard I’d done it before.”

Link strings along a shrug, stretching it in a slow, meandering gesture. “It just… it sounds easier, having someone who’s experienced do it to me.”

“Heh.”

“Come on, Rhett. Which tooth would you recommend?” Helpful, Link opens his mouth and pokes a few of them here and there, testing the first molars behind his canines. “Eh?”

“I can’t decide that for you!” snaps Rhett. “You know more about which teeth are more important for humans than I do! Take charge. You don’t need me to hold your goddamn hand for everything!”

“Fine! This one!” Link wails under pressure and shoves his finger up to indicate the top right molar second to the front. “Let’s just do it, okay? Shit.”

 _“Fine!!”_ Rhett spits back before crawling forward, shutting the laptop in the process and making Link recoil in surprise. “Stay still and open your mouth!”

Well then. This is a thing that’s happening.

Blinking rapidly, Link lays his head back on the pillow and straightens his limbs like a board. The weight of Rhett stretched out beside him… the warmth of his body lounging on an elbow to crane over Link is very real.

Thinking about the amount of blood that’s about to flood his mouth makes the student’s stomach churn. He swallows and plots an escape route to the bathroom, something he can follow blindly once it’s all over. There’s bound to be gauze in there somewhere.

“Open up,” instructs Rhett heatedly.

Link does. His lips part and expose his pearly whites, and—just to be sure—he points to the exact one he’s selected for sacrifice. “Eh uh.”

“‘Kay. Git your hand outta the way.”

“Rhett… is this gonna hurt?”

Rhett’s fingers are paused on Link’s jaw, in the middle of trying to get him to open his mouth wider. For a moment, he says nothing, and Link can only imagine the thoughts running through his head: _wuss, weakling, pansy, brat, mortal. Humans._ At the tail-end of a sigh, he responds.

“Yeah. It’s gonna hurt a lot.”

“O-Oh. Right.”

“I mean, I’m ripping something that’s attached to nerves out of your face. But it’ll be fast. It’ll be over like _that_.” Rhett snaps and a spark of fire dances alarmingly close to Link’s eyes before it twists out of existence. “Whoops.”

“Fuck.”

“Let’s get it over with. Open up.”

Link does. He shuts his eyes. Rhett shifts and the elbow bearing his weight finds its way across Link’s chest in a secure hold. Maybe it should be calming, or reassuring, but instead Link suddenly feels very much trapped.

“Alright.”

Then Rhett’s fingers are in Link’s mouth, nudging his cheek out of the way to get a grip on the tooth. It’s a good hold he’s got—up near the root, grasping the curl of the enamel where it tapers down.

“I’m gonna count to three, okay?”

“Nnn.” Link’s eyes are watering preemptively. He _knows_ he’s going to cry—his body is just conveniently jumping ahead of schedule for him.

Rhett takes a deep breath and the pressure on Link’s gums increases substantially.

“One…”

Link’s chest is rising and falling under the heft of Rhett’s weight.

“Two…”

He squeezes his eyelids tight and feels an empathetic tear roll towards his hairline.

There’s a lull. An elongated, apprehensive lull.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

Link’s heard similar words from his demon before. But they’d been delivered in a wildly different tone; it had been in psychology, referring to his classmate, and the statement had sogged with predation and the thrill of hunt—of getting what he’d been itching for. Now, they’re calm and observational, and as soon as Rhett says them, Link hears his thrumming pulse too and knows it to be true. He gives a curt nod of recognition.

When Rhett eventually removes his fingers from his tether’s mouth, he wipes them on the chest of Link’s shirt.

“Being able to see me _really_ means that much to you?”

What kind of question is that? Link had already been mentally fortifying himself to give up eating solid food for a few days in the aftermath of healing gums. If _that_ hadn’t made it clear that he was sure…

“Yes. I can’t explain why, and I can’t even say that I won’t regret it later—but right now, I need this. I have to be able to keep better track of you.”

“You’re not gonna like what you see. Demon—remember?”

Link snorts and becomes hyper-aware of the fact that Rhett is still lounging on his chest, their faces inches apart. “Think I’ll be okay.”

“Last chance to back out. I’m gonna rip your mouth up.”

For someone in his command, Rhett’s really taking the piss out of this. He _should_ be enjoying himself—getting to inflict hurt on someone, most of all the biggest pain in his ass. Not that Link’s going to command him to do it, ‘cause… well, that just sounds fucked up. But he should at least be more into it. All the second-guessing and need for assurance is freaking Link out. He closes his eyes once more.

“I’m ready.”

 _“Fuck._ Alright! Alright, listen,” Rhett starts anew, and he sits up to hover over Link, leaving the other blinking vacantly up at where he might be. “There’s another way to do this. One that… it requires less _irreversible damage,_ but it’s probably not gonna be your cup of tea.”

Link’s breath catches. “There’s another ingredient we can use instead?”

“No. An entirely different method to activate sight, numbskull. No spending money on ancient herbs or ripping your nerves out like I’m pickin’ daisies.”

At this, Link nearly sits up out of excitement and only realizes at the last second he’s about to headbutt Rhett. “Wait, really? Why didn’t you say so sooner?! Shit, Rhett, that’s great! What is it?”

There’s a pregnant pause before Rhett elucidates.

“I could drink your blood.”

Link blinks.

“‘Scuse me?”

“So, the way _you_ would get sight of me would be if you performed this—this ridiculous shitfest of a ritual, yeah? But demons can grant sight, too. It’s supposed to be like, malicious in intent or whatever—’least I’ve never heard of a human _submitting_ to a demon bite—”

_Bite?_

“—but that’s how demons who want to stalk humans do it. They bite, and drink the blood from the wound until it heals. Then? Boom. You can see me.”

Either way then, Link’s losing blood. But at least a bite will heal.

“Are there any negative side effects…? Sounds better than losing a tooth before I’m 20.”

“I’ve no idea,” Rhett admits, his uncertainty coming out like a log struggling to hold a flame. Tepid and low. “Never done it before.”

Okay.

Sure.

This could either go unpleasantly, or catastrophically.

“There’s no chance that the bite will, like… turn me into a demon, or anything…?”

The laugh that pours from Rhett’s throat unravels a good deal of Link’s anxiety. “You wish! We’re different kindsa beings, pumpkin.”

“Just askin’,” Link tries to smile and lays back down. He lets his gaze wander to the bedroom door and sweeps it up along the side of his room until he locks eyes with the corner post to his bed above his head. Enough skin should be exposed this way for a neck bite. He raps his fingers on his jugular. “Okay. I choose this method, then.”

“You… you sure?” Link can feel Rhett observing his neck. Locating the veins and considering how best not to do collateral damage… hopefully. “Probably won’t hurt much less.”

“Yeah. I’m tired of talking. Do it.”

 _“No countdown this time,”_ warns Rhett in a hush.

Just like that he’s lying next to Link again. One of his hands is splayed on Link’s chest, warm and steady. If he can feel his heart this time—Link closes his eyes and focuses on it—it’s leagues calmer, and the realization alone convinces Link to embrace the moment.

It’s going to be okay.

Rhett’s lips come into contact with Link’s neck. Gentle. Plush. _Intimate._ He’s soft and _on Link,_ drizzling slow affection onto his throat. Link can feel each of his exhales in turn, warming his skin and piling heat on heat as Rhett makes himself at home in one of Link’s most sensitive spots.

Nibbling the inside of his cheek, Link is in no way prepared for when Rhett’s tongue slides out and lavishes wide, flat attention across the skin. It drawls back and forth lazily, teasing to make Link’s toes curl effortlessly in his socks—to make him fight his body’s primal response to receiving something that feels so undeniably pleasurable.

He’s blushing. Heart’s gotten the memo that this isn’t a state for rest anymore.

The tongue… is that part of it?

Rhett growls against his wet flesh and leaves just enough room there to speak. Link feels his lips move when he says, _“Don’t pass out.”_

And then he sinks fangs into Link’s neck.

Instant, searing pain—being stabbed with red-hot hypodermic needles—and blood pools in his head from the effort it takes not to let out a blood-curdling scream. Every muscle goes rigid. White spots cloud out his vision, and a distant, high creak comes through to his own ears as himself, teetering in anguish.

Different breeds of injury stack in the spot where Rhett’s teeth are: breaking bones, rashes, deep cuts, acidic sizzle, _fire_ burning—Christ, his neck is hot—yet his extremities feel cold enough to shatter. The agony at his wound compounds infinitely when a sucking sensation relieves him of his blood, and Link can’t fight it anymore. Thank goodness _he’s_ not the one expected to follow commands.

He passes out.

 

* * *

 

Link awakes blearily into a body that can’t feel anything.

Lopsided eyes find the bedpost once again, and he blinks owlishly at the thought that he’s just a soul now. There’s no pain. Or maybe… maybe that’s what the numbness is. A pain so intense that it had consumed him, left him as a husk of a person.

It’s over. He’d woken up.

He’d finished the…

 _Oh._ The ritual.

There’s still a weight next to him on the bed, he realizes with a shot of nerves.

The hand is still on his chest.

Slowly as possible, Link drags his gaze to look down at the entity next to him.

And there lies Rhett.

Those same large goat eyes are fixated on Link, wide and waiting and unmoving. Smooth skin with a pinkish tint. Dirty blonde hair coiffed into gentle, upright waves. A small, trimmed beard-mustache… thing.

Most notable—and Link finds himself switching between ogling at these and staring into Rhett’s deeply unsettling eyes—are the sizable horns protruding from his forehead, at the corners of his hairline. They’re the same color as his skin and don’t go much farther than the tips of his hair, but one of them is snapped clean off about halfway up, the edges jagged.

Rhett’s sprawled out, watching him with a shit-eating smile, eyebrows raised. When he blinks, the movement startles Link with a jolt, and Rhett cackles in his face, the corners of his eyes creasing with laughter and sharp canines glinting.

“Yep, that’s about right. I ain’t a gargoyle.”

 _“Holy shit,”_ Link breathes. He can’t look away.

There’s a demon lying next to him. One he’d been with for almost a week now. He has horns and fangs and rectangular pupils and… and he’s _Link’s_ demon.

Fluid, Rhett rests his head on his hand and smirks down at him. “Told ya you weren’t gonna like what you saw.”

“Y-You don’t have wings… so, that’s a plus,” mumbles Link, lost in thought. “Jesus, those eyes…”

“What? Aren’t they _pretty?”_ Rhett asks, and the red around the pupils flares out to meet the edge of his irises, making Link startle once again.

“Oh, _gosh.”_

“Relax, bozo. Look—I can change them.” Without breaking eye contact, Rhett’s pupils begin to shrink.

Less than a second later, they’re human.

Link shakes his head briskly and blinks hard (he can’t seem to _stop_ blinking) to reset the image of Rhett. Now the demon just looks… approachable. Goofy. Like a guy laying in Link’s bed with him who happens to be wearing special effects makeup.

Oh, _no._

“Better?” Rhett asks impatiently, bolting his eyes open and pulling his lips into a mock frown.

“Y-Yeah. Wow.”

Rhett sighs in finality and motions his unremarkably human hand at Link’s neck. “You still in pain?”

Absently, Link reaches up and feels the assaulted spot. Two scabs—nothing more. “No. I… I feel fine, actually.”

“There ya go. All done,” Rhett pats him on his sternum before sliding out of bed. He’s… he’s wearing a System of a Down shirt and black jeans?

Link is transfixed. He’d _known_ Rhett was real, of course. Being face-to-face with him now, though, it’s like… well, for lack of a better analogy, it’s like Link is in the presence of a higher power. It’s a brush with divinity or—shit, whatever’s the opposite of divinity, _but it has the same effect,_ he realizes as he watches Rhett stretch.

Just a horned guy that no one else can see. In a normal shirt for a band Rhett’s surely never heard before, with human fingers, and can do party tricks with his eyes, and—

Rhett pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns to head to his hammock. Link’s eyes fall to his lower half, brain locking up so he doesn’t hear when Rhett says, “The icebreaker was a bust. We gotta find another way for me to help you.”

Not long, but not short. White, fluffy, fanned in a specific way.

Link responds to the suggestion with, _“You have a goat tail.”_

Rhett pauses and turns to look at Link with a neutral face. “Yeah.”

A gratified smile breaks over Link as he watches it wag mindlessly back and forth in a fast sweep of the seat of his jeans.

Rhett rolls his eyes. “Hey, by the way—the bite didn’t _have_ to be on your neck, you kinky fuck. Thanks for bein’ such a slut for it, though.”

“What?!”


	8. Housecall

It’s just as well that Link’s been sick.

With the icebreaker and the ‘sight bite’ (as he’d been calling it) taking up the majority of that past weekend’s mental faculties, homework is the last thing on his mind. Having some days off of campus would help him catch up on his workload. Or… it _might_ , if his damned headache would go away.

Since his parents are out working, Link and Rhett have total domain over the house. Link takes advantage of that and sprawls out on the cushy leather couch, feet propped up on the table. Rhett’s sitting in the floor—by choice, Link has to keep reminding himself—and he’s… visible.

He’s lounging on his back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling with a misleadingly neutral face. His legs are bent and one foot rests on the opposite knee. A hurried glance and Link steals another look at the goat tail dusting the floor, poking out from the hole in Rhett’s jeans. He fights back a smile and focuses on his laptop.

“So awkward, e-mailing three days in a row to let professors know I’m sick,” he mumbles, fingers hammering dull to hash out a message.

“When you said you were takin’ days off from class,” Rhett muses, moving to lace his fingers over his chest and look up at Link, unblinking, “I thought at least playing hooky would be fun.”

“Trust me—I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“But the most thrilling part of it’s that you’re lyin’ to your parents. _Seriously?”_ A bored huff tears Link’s attention from the poorly composed e-mail. “Such a goody two-shoes.”

“I’m fine with a _demon_ thinking that. Besides, we can’t exactly go find stuff to do when I can barely concentrate.”

“So take some goddamn medicine!” Rhett throws his hands up, nose wrinkled in irritation. “Why are humans so fuckin’ fragile?!”

“I _have_ been—the painkillers aren’t working!” Link snaps right back, and Rhett scowls at him, tail flicking faster. Shit, if the sight almost doesn’t make Link burst into laughter. That goddamn tail. Rhett’s not _nearly_ as intimidating as he’d like to be, with it. “My head just… it’s hard to think. It’s all foggy.”

“Aww, poor pumpkin.” A fang pokes out of Rhett’s mouth when he chews his bottom lip. “Demons can’t die, but I will just to spite you. I’ll die of boredom.”

“What about your hellphone?” Link can _feel_ how pathetic he looks when he passes a sagging plea to Rhett, like a mother who wants nothing more than for their child to leave them alone. “Entertain yourself.”

 _“Ugh._ That right there is the problem with humans.”

“Yeah, along with everything else you love listing off at any given opportunity. We’re too reliant on technology, we’re frail, we’re mortal,” Link counts on his fingers, what shred of good mood he’d been sustaining running thin. “We’re selfish, we hold grudges, we’re overly emotional—”

“Hey, now.” Rhett points at him. “Some of those work in my favor. Both the best and worst thing about humans—y’all some flawed fucks.”

“Rhett, be quiet and let me finish doing this. It’ll just be a minute.”

Soured, Link returns to the task at hand and tries to ignore that he’s essentially duct-taped his tether’s mouth shut. The guy can talk all he wants right after this.

In between messages, Link steals a peek at him. Laying on his back. Face totally blank, clocked up at nothingness. Jesus, he looks bored out of his _mind,_ and now he’s not even allowed to complain about it. It’s the fire Link needs to hurry and send off the notices to his other professors and shut his computer.

“Alright then. Rhett, speak.”

“Woof.” Rhett glares at him with hooded eyes.

“Okay, look—look, if you’re so desperate, why don’t we go for a walk around the neighborhood?” God, was the sunshine outside always so bright? Link shields his face with his hands and takes a deep breath, feeling the throb of his head with every beat of his heart. “Maybe we can find somethin’ for you to do while we’re out there.”

Rhett sits up, crossing his legs and hunching over. After some scrutiny of Link, he says, “You’re in pain.”

“Yeah? Well-established. I’ll just… wear sunglasses or something.” Would’ve been nice if the medicine had made a dent in his headache, but oh well. “I feel bad keepin’ you cooped up in here with me.”

“Oh, _lord below_.” With an eye roll Rhett stands—still shocking Link with how gosh dang _tall_ he is—and crosses his arms. “Fine. Come on then.”

Link nods and sets his laptop on the table before following suit. When he wobbles on his feet, Rhett’s arm shoots out and steadies him with an even grip on the shoulder. It only lasts a second, but the contact flusters Link. He’d never asked Rhett to turn off the physical contact, and Rhett had been getting cozier and cozier with casual touches where opportune.

Just part of being a demon, Link knows. Proximity doesn’t matter when you’ve been alive forever and view all mortals as accident-prone, tantrum-throwing meat sacks. He’s just doing his job as tether, keeping his master intact.

Link heads through the kitchen and snatches his prescription sunglasses from the shelf above the coat rack without stopping.

“Do you even have a plan?” grumbles Rhett, slouching as he follows. He’s the perfect picture of irate trailing along after his master, hands stuffed into his pockets and brow furrowed.

“No, but—” The room tilts without warning, and Link catches himself on the frame of the front door. He tries to pass it off as a pause to switch out his glasses—already regretting the decision to expose his raw eyes to the sun—and Rhett snorts.

“We don’t _have_ to go anywhere, bozo. I don’t wanna have to possess your body after you pass out just to walk you home.”

“I’m fine.” Link runs his tongue over his chapped lips. “I was gonna say that once we get out there, you should point out ways you can… y’know. Flex your demon-ness. Right?”

 _“Fine._ Y’know, for being willing, you’re awfully stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking.”

When Link opens the door, it’s to a stock-still Dr. Dreyer, her hand poised over the doorbell and eyebrows high in surprise—similar to Link’s bewildered expression. But it slips from her face and a stretched grin takes over.

“Link. Hello.”

Blind-sided, Link allows himself a second to take everything in. Over her shoulder—behind his father’s car in the driveway—is a soft blue compact. She’d driven here. Looks every ounce of professional in a plum blazer and pointed heels. In one hand she carries a leather briefcase, and with the other she clutches a clipboard to her chest.

“Doctor Dreyer,” he says when she quirks an eyebrow at him. “Hello.”

_“What the fuck is she doing here?”_

Link’s eyes dart to look at Rhett, but he stops himself. She can’t see him.

The psychiatrist straightens and shifts her head back curiously. “Are you home alone?”

 _“Yeah,_ that’s _not creepy.”_

“I—I am,” Link nods, and he offers a cautious hand for her to shake. With full arms, she scrutinizes it and sets her briefcase to stand on the porch before accepting the greeting. “Sorry. Wasn’t expecting a visit.”

“That’s quite alright, but… I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone before you opened the door?” The way her eyes thin with the inquisition make her more than a health specialist. She has the demeanor of an authority figure; someone who’s there to catch Link doing something he’s not supposed to be doing. It’s a bizarre knee-jerk reception to have, though—he knows this, and he tries hard to shake it for normalcy’s sake.

“I talk to myself,” he nods definitively. “Kind of embarrassing, but.”

_“Yeah, smooth. I’m sure she’s totally forgotten y’all’s little chat.”_

Another near slip-up of _shut up, Rhett,_ and Link’s heart is racing.

It’s just the two of them. Rhett doesn’t exist, as far as anyone else knows. Link _has_ to remember that. Sure, his parents had said he’d seemed distant lately, but luckily that had been passed off as part of the queasiness that’d been following him around. Starting college. Sick. Changing family dynamics, not an entity of evil following him around.

Rhett is his secret.

“I see,” she finally says, and plasters the smile back on. “I hope this isn’t too forward, Link, but would you mind if I came in? Just for a minute—I know I caught you by surprise.”

 _“She wants to come inside?”_ Rhett repeats in exasperation. _“Tell her to fuck off!”_

With a flashing grimace, Link nods and steps aside. “Of course. Come on in.”

_“Bozo!”_

“Thank you,” Dr. Dreyer bows slightly before entering. “Shoes?”

_“Make her leave!”_

“Off, if you wouldn’t mind. The folks would appreciate it,” Link says through a hollow laugh. While she’s distracted removing her heels, he gives Rhett a venomous glare, hoping it conveys everything he needs it to—but Rhett sneers right back and bares his fangs at Dr. Dreyer through twitching lips. Link scolds him with a thwack on the shoulder.

Dr. Dreyer carries her briefcase and clipboard into the living room and stops to admire her surroundings. “You have a beautiful home.”

It _is_ pretty, and Link appreciates it, too. “Comes with the territory, you know?” He shrugs and fixes his hands on his hips. When his statement is greeted with squinting confusion from the psychiatrist, Link blinks. “Oh. My—my parents are realtors—sorry.”

“Ah. Now I remember,” she agrees, letting out a belated polite laugh. “Thank you for seeing me on such short… well. _No_ notice. Please let me explain: you had no way of knowing this, but when a student visits the university’s psychiatric services, there’s a monitoring period where we observe their attendance. And according to records, you’ve been entirely absent for the past… two days, with no doctor’s note.”

Link swallows. Wants more than anything to look over his shoulder at Rhett for some reminder that he’s not alone in this sticky situation. Thankfully, Dr. Dreyer takes his silence as request to continue.

“House calls are tricky, since we can’t call ahead and risk outing students to their parents. But it looks like this worked out seamlessly.” When she smiles again, it’s genuine. She cares, at least on some level. For some reason. “I was hoping we could just talk for a minute. Nothing serious. It usually isn’t, when we have absentee issues—but better safe than sorry.”

“No. Y-Yeah, I mean—yeah. Of course.” Link upturns a palm towards the couch. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink? We have tea and water. Lemonade.”

“Actually, some water would be lovely. It’s hot out today.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Head spinning, Link does his best to look composed on his walk to the kitchen. He retrieves a clean glass from the cupboard and turns to find himself chest-to-chest with Rhett, scowling down at him. Without missing a beat Rhett snatches the glass from him and holds it away.

_“What are you doing?!”_

Now there’s a cup floating in the middle of the kitchen—or there would be to Dr. Dreyer, if she simply craned her neck a few inches to look behind her. Link panics and glowers up at his tether in turn, fighting to get the glass back from him. _“Rhett,”_ he hisses through clenched teeth, and manages to grab it at the same second she _does_ turn around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah!” Link answers too quickly. “This glass—ahh, you don’t want this one. S’dirty. Lemme just…” He hesitates and goes to get another, hoping Dr. Dreyer doesn’t notice when he replaces the ‘soiled’ glass in the cabinet.

She opens her briefcase and busies her hands with the papers on her lap.

_“This is a horrible idea. You’re a terrible liar.”_

Staring daggers at Rhett—who’s watching with disdain enough for Link to feel it in the air between them—Link fills the glass with ice cubes and chilled water. He pauses and decides to get another glass for himself, just to burn time. “I have to do this,” he mouths. “I don’t have a choice!”

Link pours the slowest glass of sweet tea ever as Rhett rolls his eyes and groans.

_“She’s gonna haul you away to a hospital if you keep this up.”_

“Then shut up,” Link lips wordlessly, eyes darting to the back of Dr. Dreyer’s head. “You’re not helping!”

Even though it’s not a command of his name, that seems to do the trick. Rhett’s bristling with annoyance—his goat eyes have returned and he hunches his shoulders forward in a clear show of aggression—but he doesn’t say anything else as Link serves the drinks in the living room. There’s an ottoman that he pulls to sit on across from Dr. Dreyer, the coffee table separating them.

“So, Link. How are you feeling?” she starts in all seriousness, pen poised above her clipboard and ready to translate Link’s well-being onto paper. A weak chill runs up his back.

An interview about his mental health. This should be… fine.

“All good. I’m good.” To the point, he grins. Adjusts it to show what’s probably a good amount of teeth.

“Now, are you really ill, or have you just been playing hooky?” When Link falters, she shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to rat you out to your professors if you just wanted some time off for yourself. That’s pretty common, especially with my patients.”

Finally, Rhett moves from his statuesque sentry in the kitchen. He slowly walks over and stands behind the couch, eyes affixed to the back of Dr. Dreyer’s head. Link can’t help but watch him, praying he won’t make her combust or suddenly vomit—but nothing happens, and when Link looks back down, she seems concerned.

 _Shit,_ he’s gotta get it together.

“No, I really am sick. I’ve been having like… migraines. Or somethin’. The past few days.”

“Really?” Her tone is both surprised and interested, and she writes something on the clipboard. Link wrings his hands in his lap—knows without acknowledging the way Rhett deflates and mumbles _oh, lord below_ that that wasn’t a great answer.

“And a sore throat! Just kinda—achy, all over. Like the flu, maybe?” he babbles to compensate. God forbid she thinks he has anything scan-worthy.

“Ah. I see.” She continues writing, and Link takes the opportunity to watch Rhett watch her. His lips are molded into a thin frown, eyes following her pen. He doesn’t say anything though, and Link really wishes he would. Let him know what she’s doing. “I guess the migraine would explain the sunglasses indoors.”

Link startles, because _yeah_ —he’s still wearing them. He reaches up before Rhett bites, _“Don’t take them off_ now!”

Oh. He masks the movement as a nose scratch. “Right.”

Dr. Dreyer hums and looks at Link over her glasses. “I apologize for meeting with you while you’re not feeling well, then. I don’t suppose you have a doctor’s note you could show me, just to verify that you’ve been sick? Would make it easier on your attendance record.”

He doesn’t, but he could get one. Probably. Lots of local clinics took short-notice visits for stuff like this. “What would that look like?” he asks quietly, which earns a disbelieving look from her. He stutters. “I have a, uh, really good attendance record. I’m not sure I’ve seen one before.”

She takes a long sip of her water before popping open the briefcase and shuffling through it to pull out a little pad of notes. She rests it on the table between them, and Rhett looms closer to get a good look. It’s a nondescript form with fields to be filled out by hand: date, office, reason for absence, contact information.

“Link. Do you mind if we talk a little bit more about the voice you mentioned hearing when you came to visit?” She grabs the pad and sets it beside her, crosses her legs and sits forward. “I just want to get an update on how that’s going.”

What the fuck is he supposed to say besides “Sure?”

“Great. Are you still hearing the voice?” she asks with a calm air, pen readied.

Link licks his lips. He’s such a bad liar. Rhett had been right about that, but this—unannounced home visitations when there’s no burgeoning mental illness, just reason for it all standing behind the couch and—reaching down to the notepad and— _fuck,_ what is Rhett doing?!

Link follows Rhett’s extended arm—knows Dr. Dreyer is watching him, but can’t help it, and she’s probably used to scatterbrained patients anyway—to meet his gaze. When they lock eyes, Rhett shakes his head, level and sure.

_“Say ‘no,’ Link.”_

“No.” He does as he’s told and returns his attention to Dr. Dreyer. “No, the voice actually stopped.”

“Really? That’s interesting.” The way she doesn’t jot anything on her clipboard speaks volumes. “Came and went so suddenly.”

“I know. I think it was just a weird stress reaction to starting college or somethin’. It’s why I didn’t make a follow-up appointment,” Link laughs. In his periphery, he sees Rhett peel the top note off of the elastic-bound pad. _What the fuck is he doing?!_ If she sees that…! “It’s a beautiful day out today, isn’t it?” Link blurts, pointing at the back door.

Dr. Dreyer’s eyes pin open in surprise and she turns to look out at the yard. Rhett’s a good partner when it comes to stuff like this, at least. He whisks the note away and carries it into the kitchen. Peering over Dr. Dreyer’s head, he can see Rhett retrieve a pen from their little pen basket. He hunches over the note and pulls out his hellphone and—oh. _Duh._

A warm wave of gratitude soaks over Link as Dr. Dreyer asks whether he’d like to go talk outside instead.

“No, it’s okay. Like you said—it’s hot.” Link relaxes marginally. Lets himself rubs his sweaty palms on his thighs and finally takes a drink of tea.

“Ah. Anyways,” she starts again, showing a smile that’s clearly fake, “how long after our meeting did the voice stop?”

“Pretty much the next day, I think.” Link bobs his head amicably. “It really wasn’t that long.”

Rhett’s writing in the kitchen now, glancing down at his phone periodically. Gosh, Link hopes he’s writing something believable.

“Interesting. Link… I hope this doesn’t come across as an insult, or out of line—because believe me, it’s incredibly common,” she begins, and what little ease Link had felt at Rhett’s help slinks away. Rhett pauses, too. Looks up from his forgery. “But… are you using any substances?”

The idea alone almost sends Link into a fit of laughter. That would be bad, right?

“What?”

“It’s just… the sunglasses, not going to class. Plus you seem kind of… flighty, if you don’t mind me saying so. Understand that if you _are_ using a substance, that information doesn’t leave this room,” she’s saying, but Link’s shaking his head through all of it and trying to ignore Rhett’s rolling chuckles from the kitchen as he continues writing.

“No, ma’am. I’m very honestly not,” he answers.

But his phrasing gives her pause. “Very honestly,” she repeats slowly, watching. Chewing her lip in thought.

Link breaks into a sweat. Doesn’t know what to say to that—how is she so fucking observant?! Then Rhett waves for his attention and Link sees him pull out a drawer in exaggerated movements and place the note into it. He slides it shut quietly, and Link trains a smile on Dr. Dreyer.

“You know, I think I _do_ have a doctor’s note. I didn’t know what it was for when they gave it to me,” he explains as he stands. “Perfect attendance in the past. Y’know?”

“Oh?” She sits up and sets aside her clipboard—the best thing that’s happened since she arrived.

Link makes sure she’s focused on him when he strides into the kitchen and retrieves it from the drawer, quickly pushing aside the very pen Rhett had used to write it. He scans over it quickly.

It’s good. Barely legible, with a full phone number and address for a local clinic. Rhett must have looked that up on his hellphone, and the thought makes Link smirk. Refraining from turning and giving the demon a hug, he saunters back into the living room and passes it to Dr. Dreyer over the couch. “Is this it?”

Dr. Dreyer takes it and makes a small noise of surprise. “Oh! Actually—yes, this is a note. Looks just like mine, too. What are the odds?” she laughs, a warm, unfamiliar noise Link has never heard from her before. “We really should get ones that are personalized. If a student knew how, they could easily get a stack of these and just forge them ‘til the cows come home.” She grins up at Link, who does his best not to nervous-chuckle right in her face. “Well. Alright then, Link.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I will take this for our records—your absences will be excused, of course.” She stands and packs everything back into her briefcase. “I’m glad to hear you’re feeling well again. Mind-wise, of course. But you know if that ever changes, you’re always more than welcome to come back to my office.”

The weight of terror and nerves in Link’s chest alleviates as she heads to the foyer and slips on her shoes. “Yeah—yes! Of course. Thank you for checking in with me, Dr. Dreyer.”

“Oh, Link. You’re a sweet kid,” she smiles. Standing and facing one another in the foyer, she huffs and points over her shoulder. “Alright. Sorry for stopping by unexpected. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No problem,” Link waves. She’s halfway out the door when he looks over and sees Rhett still baring his fangs—and dammit, he can’t help it when he smiles and says, “Down, boy.”

Dr. Dreyer pauses in the doorway. She turns and looks at Link.

God dammit.

“What...?”

“Just—” Link gulps hard and clasps his hands behind his back. “T-Talkin’ to myself again.”

Dr. Dreyer pulls a face and looks Link up and down, obviously every bit as uncomfortable as she should be while Rhett snorts a long, tickled breath. Then she’s gone and the door is closed, and Link doubles over on his knees and lets out a sigh. Rhett’s cackle sounds like the flutter of bat wings.

Once a car door slams, Link glares up at Rhett. “You asshole!”

 _“I_ didn’t make you say that!! Oh, fuck that’s—she thinks you’re a creep! That was hilarious!”

“God. Oh, god, she really does, doesn’t she?” He should feel humiliated, or guilty. But he’s _not_ a creep, and the humor of the situation brews into his residual anxiety and comes out in a laugh just as loud as Rhett’s. Human and humble. Rhett starts up again, and the two of them lose their composure side-by-side in the foyer, wrecked with amusement.

When it subsides, Link eases himself to a stand, and Rhett’s hand is on his shoulder in an instant to steady him. “Oh, Christ. Thank you, Rhett.”

“She would’ve made our life a living hell, man.” His touch lingers, squeezing gently, and it begs Link to look at him. Those pupils are human again. The tinge of good humor—a trace of a mirthful smile is still there at the corners of his eyes.

“ _Our_ life,” Link echoes softly, because it’s _true._

They’re together now, and are going to be for a long time. He’s stuck with Rhett. But the reverse is also true, and it does well to remember from time to time: Rhett is stuck with him. Everything they do for the next five years, they’re going to do together. From awkward freshman mixers Link can’t handle alone to unwelcome house guests Rhett wants to chase away.

If Link agrees to something, Rhett’s just along for the ride. And he’s been a really great passenger so far, considering he’s supposed to be… well, wicked.

Rhett lets his hand fall and knits his brow together in puzzled humor at Link’s expression. “What?”

“Nothin’. Thanks for the note.”

Rhett claps him on the back. “Forgery’s fun. Felt good, bo.”

Link screws up his face, trying not to smile. “‘Bo?’”

“‘Bozo’ is too long. Shortened it.”

“Ah. Interesting decision, Vaz’gorhett.”

“You remember.”

“Well, _yeah._ You’re my demon, aren’t you?”

Rhett stands just a bit taller, and for a moment, his pupils dilate heavily as he gazes down at Link, head cocked to the side.

There’s that heat again. Not that he can do anything about it, but sometimes being under the obsession of an immortal shapeshifter makes Link… something. He isn’t sure what. Flustered, is probably the best word for it. To brush it off, he reaches up and gives Rhett’s cheek two soft pats.

“Good job.”

Rhett’s lids sink low and drunk with even that small amount of praise, and the burn in Link’s neck worsens.

_“Thank you, master.”_

“Sure. I’d puuhh—prefer you call me ‘bo,’ though.”

Link swallows, retracts his hand to clear Rhett’s mind again. It works. Rhett blinks and gives his head a quick shake, tail wagging viciously at his back.

“I think I need to go lay down now. You wanna—I dunno,” Link hedges, then shoves a thumb at the staircase. “We can go watch something on my laptop?”

“That show _Netflix_ again?”

“That’s not… I gotta be better at teaching you stuff,” Link mumbles, leading the way to his room and very much feeling the grounding hand on his waist as he sways up the steps.


	9. In Over His Head

_“Still,_ with the headache?”

“It won’t go away. It _never_ goes away, I told you that.”

“Don’t humans have—oh, I dunno, _doctors_ , if they get sick? Go to a goddamn doctor,” Rhett growls over his shoulder in the bathroom mirror. “I’m tired of you bitchin’ about it. Just hurry up and find out you have a brain tumor or some shit.”

Link pulls his towel from around his waist and begins scrubbing his hair dry with a glare. It works like a charm—Rhett’s eyes widen and he spins to face the wall, giving Link some semblance of privacy. Not that Link had ever asked for it, but apparently some things not even a demon will indulge in. Funny, that he has boundaries. Funnier, that Link had learned about them over the course of two weeks and could now exploit them to shut him up.

“Fucker,” Rhett spits and crosses his arms.

Well. _Almost_ shut him up.

“I will never be over the fact that you get weird when I’m naked.” Link huffs a soft laugh and trails the towel over his body gradually, dabbing away beads of water. “Five years, and you plan on just turning around multiple times a day?”

“ _I’m_ not the one who wanted me in the bathroom with you while you showered!” The gripe’s as loud as the mint green walls.

Link considers this with pursed lips. “Wanted to talk to ya ‘bout this party. Make sure we’re on the same page.”

“And we talked. Happy? Ugh.”

Whether or not Link wants to admit it, the past few days had been undeniably different between him and his tether.

He hadn’t been well, and where one would assume that perhaps having a demon lingering around during a bout of illness would worsen things, Rhett had been surprisingly present for it. Always making sure Link wasn’t about to tip over when the vertigo latched on. Asking him whether he planned on going to campus that day, the reminder always coming with plenty of time to email his professors should the answer be ‘no’ (though that was probably selfish, on some level—like a dog hoping to go for a walk). Keeping track of his sunglasses for him, providing him company with idle small-talk when he was having trouble falling asleep, letting him know when his parents were about to get home so he could brace to act like he’d gone to class that day. Link hadn’t asked for any of that stuff.

Rhett had simply been looking out for him.

“And what did we decide?” Link asks his reflection, nabbing the neatly folded boxers from the counter top and slipping into them carefully as to not lose his balance.

“That we’re going.”

“And?”

“And that no one’s gonna make you do anything you don’t want to,” Rhett monotones, his tail dusting the shower curtains in a thwapping hush when he glimpses at Link and turns back around. “Ridiculous.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s ridiculous. The punch was spiked at the mixer, and—”

“And I warned you that time, didn’t I?” Rhett sneers, nose twitching. He bows slightly to catch Link’s gaze, goat pupils back full-force in distaste. “My _only_ duty is gonna be watchin’ out for you? Fuck’s sake, bo, it’s a college party! A den of sin! Your cup runneth over! We’re going to a buffet and you wanna stick to the salad bar!”

“Y’know, it’s weird to me that you always compare this shit to gluttony,” muses Link, squinting at Rhett and searching the demon’s face. “I’ve never actually seen you eat.”

Rhett’s mouth falls open and his fangs poke out, an eyebrow lifting in exasperation to return the scrutiny. “What? That’s not—that’s not the point.”

“What _do_ you eat?” Link asks, blinking.

“I—I’ve never actually—you’re _changing the subject!”_ Rhett’s face returns to its usual pinch, and Link smiles. He’s weirdly fun to rile up, once you’re used to the tantrums.

“Listen, _pumpkin,”_ the entity seethes, hoisting to sit on the counter as Link pulls on his pants. “At this thing, there’s gonna be drinking, at the very least. You’re 19. You _have_ to drink.”

Link glances up at him, confused but smirking. “I don’t _have t—”_

“You _have to,”_ Rhett repeats with insistence, holding up a finger to hover over Link’s lips and keep him quiet. “It’s a party. You think you’re gonna show up and everyone’s gonna have booze and you’ll be able to get away without? It’s the only thing I can guarantee: you’re gonna end up drinking. So be prepared.”

“You can believe that if you want,” Link laughs, finally pulling on his shirt and shaking out his still-damp hair. “I’m in charge, though. Not you.”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” Rhett’s tone is belittling but Link ignores it to pick his phone back up and find Jake’s text:

_party at my place tonight. come by if u want. if u can’t bring anything cash to chip in is fine - j_

Below it’s an address file. It’s about a twenty minute walk.

Honestly, Rhett should be thrilled that they’re even going in the first place. Link probably should’ve been more flagrant about rubbing it in his face, but to be honest, he’d been excited to get an invitation somewhere that hadn’t come through school. And no matter how he felt about Jake, there were gonna be others there. People he could connect with.

Folks make friends all sorts of different ways. This could be good.

When he begins hashing out a response, Rhett leans in close to watch. Strange, that it doesn’t bother Link anymore. Personal space had dwindled to nil between them.

_Be there soon._

“Alright.” Link slides the phone into his jeans pocket and accosts himself in the mirror for a once over. His hair’s still not dry, but it’s hot out today, so the walk’ll take care of it. Wallet with money’s by the front door, along with his prescription sunglasses and denim jacket. He’s… ready? “Let’s do this. You need anything before we go?”

Rhett draws back and narrows his eyes. “Like what? What would I possibly need?”

“I dunno.” Link frowns and shrugs. “Food for the first time? Encouragement? Kind words from your master?”

The same open-mouthed bafflement finds Rhett and he shakes his head briskly before slinking to the floor. “You’re bein’ weird today, ya little freak.”

“I’m in a good mood.” Link should be turning to let them out of the bathroom, not standing and staring up at Rhett with a challenging goad on his face. “You _sure_ you don’t want me to scratch you behind the ear and tell you you’re a good boy?”

Rhett bares his teeth, eyes glinting sharp. “Try it and I’ll bite your fingers off.”

“We both know you wouldn’t.”

When Link brings a mock hand up to test the theory and pauses near Rhett’s face, the snarl eases a bit. Rhett’s rectangular eyes morph into human pools of black and dart around the bathroom, head still. Link tries not to smile. Rhett’s so close to breaking and purring like he does.

 _“Can we go now?”_ asks the demon, low, patience worn thin but done raising his voice.

“Sure.” Sated with the game, Link drops his hand and lets them out to start the evening.

 

* * *

 

They have the address right, don’t they?

When Link stops at the mouth of a driveway to an unassuming albeit beautiful home in a suburb like his own, he consults his phone again. If Jake had texted the address right, this is the place. Sure, there’s music coming from inside, but it’s not nearly as crazy as he thought it would be. There aren’t cars vying for parking or people smoking cigarettes on the porch. No one’s passed out on the lawn with a tipped Solo cup just out of reach.

Rhett stuffs his hands into his pockets and clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Huh. Maybe this _is_ your kinda party.”

“It’s so quiet. Guess I always thought these things were, like, _ragers_. Just based on movies.”

“You ready?”

“I guess?” Link gives Rhett an unsteady smile, and Rhett blinks slowly at him, face neutral. Still wearing his human eyes, Link notices. It’d probably lighten the mood if Rhett gave him shit for his anxiety, or maybe even mocked his awkward hopefulness. The demon does neither and the humor slips from Link’s face with a gulp. “Yeah. Okay, what’s the one rule?”

“Stand in the yard smilin’ at nothin’ and talk to yourself ‘til someone asks what asylum you broke out of?”

_“Rhett.”_

“Keep you informed,” Rhett answers in the same bored tone.

“That’s right—thank you.” Link starts, but stops just as quickly to shove a finger in Rhett’s face. “No possessions tonight either, Rhett. Stay close.”

“Should I turn off touch?” growls the other, fixating on the tip of Link’s finger like he really _does_ wanna bite it.

Hesitating, Link shakes his head brusquely. “No, that’s not necessary.”

Never mind the fact that it doesn’t have to be ‘necessary’ at all.

It’s probably just that Rhett’s been there to help him so much lately, but when Link examines it, the thought of not being able to touch his tether makes him… nauseated. It’s a level of dependency he isn’t sure he wants to ask Rhett about yet—whether the grounding that comes with physical contact (or the sickness that comes with a lack thereof) is felt on both ends. He’s scared the answer will be embarrassing and revolve back to him being a squishy, needy, easily-manipulated mortal.

Link pushes the thoughts out. “Just… try not to bump into me. And I’ll do the same.”

“Yep.”

“Alright then.”

The front door is grandiose and makes Link feel like he’s a doll trying to enter a normal house once he’s on the precipice. Should he knock? Ring the doorbell? That probably wasn’t what cool people did. Cool people probably just walked in.

Clicking open the large golden handle, Link pushes to reveal a house so elegant, his parents would’ve drooled and dreamt up a listing. Tall eggshell white walls. A fountain built into the wall of the hall before him, which widens and opens onto a living room with spotless leather furniture and a gilded crystal chandelier. It smells of something Link can’t quite label, but is pleasant and floral with a hint of citrus.

He’s totally alone. Well, save Rhett.

_“Let me steal something while we’re here! Holy shit!”_

“No!” Link scolds, letting himself in and closing the door behind him. The music is thrumming through the walls, coming from farther inside somewhere. It takes all of his restraint not to pull out his phone and shoot off a text to Jake— _Hey, is this the right address?_ —but that’s not what cool people do. So Link glances around for a spot for shoes, and upon finding none, wanders through the ghostly vista until he finds the bumping door.

Behind it is a stairwell leading down. The sound of laughter mingles with music, and at that, Link shoots a pleased grin over his shoulder at Rhett. But the demon’s nose is twitching, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air.

_“Oh, man.”_

“What? What’s wrong?”

Rhett’s eyes jerk to meet Link’s, and the pupils stretch thin. Link can’t help the surge of discomfort that comes with watching someone’s pupils dance around—cat eyes, snake eyes, no pupils, goat. Jesus.

_“Hemp.”_

“Huh?” The second he asks, it hits him; a thick, pungent smell twists his stomach. Like some kinda roadkill, but more fragrant, if such a thing is possible. The upset brings Link to brace a hand on his stomach. _“Oh.”_

 _“Y’okay?”_ Rhett asks, straightening. No sooner does a hand find Link’s shoulder than his pupils are human again.

 _“Wow,_ that stinks,” Link mumbles, burying his nose in his jacket sleeve. “That’s pot?”

 _“...is that a name for it these days?”_ Rhett asks himself, eyes traveling to the ceiling in thought. _“Marijuana, yeah. That’s it. Lucky you—you might not have to get drunk, but you also might have to get high, if you wanna ‘make friends’ here.”_

Link steels himself.

It’s not too late. He can turn around and leave. No one would ever know he was here.

Except for Rhett. Would Rhett make his life a living hell? Probably.

He himself would know, too.

Shit.

Link’s feet fall heavy on the staircase as he begins the descent, and the voices below hush. They’re waiting for the big reveal, and a knot forms in Link’s stomach. At least in his head he’s not alone. Rhett’s footfalls are just behind his.

When he gets to the bottom of the stairs and turns, it’s a spacious room where groups of people are spread out. Some on bean bag chairs, others standing around holding—okay, yeah, there’s beer here too. But all eyes are on him, and Link freezes.

_“Don’t lock up.”_

Link gives a noncommittal wave. A halfhearted smile.

 _“There ya go. Jake’s over there.”_ Rhett’s arm shoots over Link’s shoulder and points the guy out, probably the only person in the room not paying attention to the newcomer. He’s fiddling with something in his lap in a low seat. At the coffee table in front of him is a long-necked piece of glass with water in its basin that Link distantly realizes must be a bong. _“Go say hi.”_

“Right.”

As he walks, attention falls away from him back to individual conversations. He grows bolder. Soon he’s by Jake’s side, admiring his plugs and waiting patiently for him to quit fiddling with the little glass container of… Link’s-never-seen-it-in-person-before-but-it’s-weed in his lap.

When he looks up—eyes a milky red and cinched tight and sleepy looking—Jake breaks into a smile. “Hey! Link, you made it.”

“You bet I did,” Link responds, the greeting sounding fake even to his own ears. “Thanks for the invite, man.”

“Yo, no problem. Nice sunglasses,” Jake thumbs at his own face like he’s wearing a pair. “Make yourself at home. Drinks are over at the bar," he motions lazily at a long standing bar with full stools behind Link—“or you can pop a squat right here with me. Got a fresh bowl packed. ‘Bout to pass it around.”

Link nods amicably at the others in the circle around Jake. They look nice enough. A girl with a lip piercing straight through her bottom lip smiles thickly at him, two braids over her shoulders and resting on her chest. A guy with shaved sides and stroking a scruffy beard gives him a finger gun with his free hand. A third person with long, blue-tipped hair and smokey eyeshadow winks at Link, and Link smiles.

“Uhh… let me grab a drink, and I’ll come back.”

“Oooh,” Jake cries and slaps his leg. “Damn. Good man.”

“What,” Link asks the air, making his way over to the bar.

 _“He’s talking about mixing alcohol and weed. You didn’t want to do either, and now you’re doing both. Congratulations.”_ Link honestly can’t tell whether Rhett is celebrating or scolding him, and looking at his face isn’t much help. He simply looks… troubled? Impressed? _“I’m so proud.”_

“It’s okay to mix, right?” Link hopes it looks like he’s talking to himself when he pops open a cooler and retrieves a bottle of beer. He doesn’t look at the label. Figures it doesn’t matter, what with him never having tried _any_ before.

_“Depends. Some people, it makes for a nice experience. Others get violently ill and throw up.”_

“O-Oh.”

_“Yeah. S’why your new friend over there’s so stoked. Thinks you’re a regular party animal.”_

A party animal. Link could be that. For one night. To get to know some people. Easy peasy.

“Rhett,” Link says to the corner of the walls where his demon is standing, one leg pulled up to rest on the paint.

_“Hmm.”_

“Please don’t let me get sick.”

_“How’m I s’posed to help that?!”_

“You’re watchin’ out for me tonight, aren’t you?”

 _“Not to that extent!”_ Rhett’s lip curls. _“I said I would keep you safe from people trying to play tricks on you, not from the consequences of your actions! If you puke everywhere, it’s your own fault!”_

“Fine!”

_“Good!”_

“That guy’s so high he’s talkin’ to a _wall_ ,” a girl says over Link’s shoulder. Link turns and beelines back to the group with a burning face. With no more chairs left, he plops on the floor beside Jake and struggles to open his bottle for a moment before Jake leans over and points. “It’s a twist-off, fam.”

Off to a good start.

“Alright,” Jake announces, turning ruler of his kingdom and holding up his hands benevolently. It’s probably the pot, but this Jake is nothing at all like the Jake Link had met on campus. He’s in his element—relaxed and a bit goofy, playing good host to a small group. In one palm he’s got a lighter, and he lowers it down to Link in a bestowing gesture. “This is some chronic shit, my friend. You can go first, good sir.”

Okay, this is off to a horrific start.

Fingers shaking, Link sets aside his beer and accepts the lighter. He reaches up and takes the bong from the table, bending forward slightly under its weight. Who knew glass and water could be so heavy? Not to mention it’s the height of Link’s torso, but… all bongs are this big, right?

Link pauses to cross his legs and set the contraption in his lap, staring down at it. “Thanks, Jake.”

“My pleasure. Hit that shit, man.”

_“Link.”_

Rhett’s right in his ear. Must be hunched to the floor behind him.

_“Calm down. It’s gonna be okay. It’s just weed. It’s not gonna hurt you.”_

Breaking into a sweat, Link takes his time fiddling with the lighter. Examines the bowl of ground up greens that sparkle dewy under the lights.

 _“Light the lighter. Put your mouth on this part,”_ Rhett reaches around him to tap the tube at the top of the bong, _“and make a seal. Light the grass—just a little at a time, not all of it.”_

Absently, Link begins taking his instructions, scared that if he doesn’t, too much time will pass and he’ll either forget or get heckled. He has to look like he’s done this before. That he’s in the know-how.

_“You want this chamber to fill with smoke.”_

Inhaling, inhaling, inhaling.

 _“Good. Now grab the handle on the bowl—this little nub. Pull the mouthpiece out, and take all of that smoke down and_ hold it _. All of it,”_ Rhett instructs calmly, and Link follows his directions to a T.

Instantly his chest burns, feels like it’s coming apart at the seams inside. Like he’s sucked down skunk-flavored ash and his eyes are watering and he makes an unflattering snorting noise as Jake whoops and takes the rig from him.

_“That’s long enough. Now slowly let it out, and try not to cough too hard.”_

Link groans out the smoke in a steady exhale, head feeling light and swimming with the new sensation of being high. Holy shit, did it happen _fast._ “Whoa.”

_“Perfect.”_

“Good god, yo.” Jake’s beaming at him, holding it up for the girl with braids to take next. “That was a huge hit. Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” chokes Link in a rasp, still getting some smoke out with each exhale. “I’m good. Good shit,” he says, like he has any idea what he’s talking about.

_“You did it. Good job.”_

With Jake’s attention elsewhere, Link cocks his head to speak into his shoulder. Thankfully, being on the floor and out of the way makes it easy not to get caught. “How’d you know…? Have you seen one before?”

 _“Nope.”_ Helpful as ever, Rhett’s other arm slides forward and he waggles his hellphone in Link’s face. _“Looked it up.”_

“Oh. Thank you, Rhett.”

_“Mmhm. Maybe next time you should consider figuring how to do something before jumping in head first.”_

“Sorry.”

_“It’s fine.”_

“Rhett?”

_“Yeah?”_

Link hazards a glance at the smoke circle he’s a part of. Everyone’s smiling, watching as the guy with the beard makes smoke rings much to their amusement. Link’s untouched beer is still there on the table, waiting for him. But the room is spinning and it’s really loud and Link’s brain is fuzzy and foggy.

He doesn’t know these people, and he’s surrounded by them. Not safe.

“I’m scared.”

_“You’re just high.”_

“Why did I wanna be high for the first time with strangers?”

_“You should be proud. It’s not like you. You’re getting out of your comfort zone.”_

“I’m—it’s scary. Feel like I’m gonna die here,” Link whispers, ‘cause it’s true. Absurd, but he feels it in his bones. He’s not going home.

 _“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”_ Rhett shifts behind him. _“Nope. Not doing this. Don’t freak out.”_

“I’m not gonna freak—”

But Rhett is pressing against his back. His arms encircle Link’s chest in an embrace, his long legs pull forward on either side of his human’s. Link is being cocooned, hugged in his sitting position, and he can feel the bulge of the base of Rhett’s horns pressing into the nape of his neck when he speaks again.

_“You’re not alone. I’m always here. If anyone tries anything, I won’t let them. You’re safe.”_

Link’s eyes burn. He wants to cry—to thank the demon and melt back into the grounding affection he’s being given, but the bong is being passed back to him now and he takes it with idle fingers and a plastered-on smile.

_“You should pass this round, pumpkin. Nurse your beer instead.”_

Link does as he’s told, winking at Jake and proffering it to him without a second thought. If Jake’s bothered, he doesn’t show it while Link collects his drink.

When Rhett’s chin rests on Link’s shoulder, and Link can see him staring up at the others protectively from his periphery, his paranoia begins to settle.

He’s not crazy. The contact makes everything easier. To be able to touch Rhett and have Rhett touch him. To see him, know he’s there and that he really _isn’t_ ever alone, and won’t be for years… it’s what he needs to stay here. To be brave enough to endure this house of strangers and smoking and drinking.

Rhett doesn’t have a choice, ultimately. He’s there for better or worse.

But he never _had to_ hug Link like this just to calm him down.

 _“Your pulse is slowing,”_ Rhett observes, and Link nods.

“‘Cause’a you,” he slurs, taking his first sip of beer minutes after his first hit of pot.

And he can’t be sure, but he thinks he feels Rhett’s embrace tighten just a bit.


	10. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has changed, and I did my best with the tags. 🤷 Enjoy!

_Mmm. Warm and kinda icky but mostly warm._

_Tiltawhirl. Spinning, and spinning, and—_ giggling _—spinning._

_Eyes won’t stay open. S’okay. Means feels good. ‘Cept for stomach. No pukin’. Ain’t gon puke. Feels good._

_“Link.”_

_There he is. The warm._

_Hugged me. Held me. Still doin’ it. Feels good._

_“Link,”_ _tappin’ my arm. Talkin’ close. Tickles._ _Go ‘way._

_Nah. Don’t._

“Mmm?”

_“Time to go home. Party’s over.”_

_Home? Sleep here._ “No.”

_“Yeah. You have to get up and go home.”_

“Why.”

_“I know you. You don’t wanna wake up here. You would hate that. Time to get up.”_

Link forces his eyes open. Everything’s dark. “Can’t see.”

Without a word, the sunglasses on his face slide up to rest on his head, and Link tries to blink. Every meet of his eyelids feels like glue, every pull-apart sticky and dry.

 _This_ is what a college party is supposed to look like. Bodies everywhere, beer cans everywhere, half-empty bottles everywhere, the grungy stink of pot, crumbs and chip bags speckling the floor, someone snoring, the dim multicolored lights throwing everything in a blue haze. Link’s smoke circle… Jake’s asleep. The others are asleep. There’s a couple making out in the corner, but they’re far gone. Don’t care.

Had Rhett fallen asleep, too? What time is it?

“Oh, gosh.”

_“Let’s go home, pumpkin. You had a good time.”_

“Can’t stand.” Rhett’s still behind him, coating his limbs with his own—until for the first time that night he shifts, extricating himself from around Link and leaving an aching chasm void of comfort. The brunet frowns. Allows the pout to take his face entirely under the weight of drink and THC. “Come back.”

 _“We’re gonna stand, okay? Get ready.”_ Large hands find Link’s underarms and pull, effortlessly bringing him to his feet with a noise of surprise. They don’t let go as Link wobbles, finds his footing and balance. _“Can you stand?”_

“Think so.”

_“Alright. Come on.”_

A guiding hand wraps around Link’s wrist and pulls. Right—he should keep his eyes open for walking, probably. More energetic blinks, and he’s watching Rhett’s back. The mesmerizing zebra-striped folds of black fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The peaks of his coiffed hair, with one horn poking above in the front. _The goat tail!_ It’s fluffy and wagging and never stops wagging!

“Oh my god.” Link snorts happily and might actually cry. “I love your tail _so much._ S’my favorite.”

Rhett does a double take over his shoulder. If only Link could have a photograph of his expression. Stunned, flustered? Not looks for a demon. Endearing. He’s so spiky but like, kinda cute in an evil sort of way? And also in like an underwear model kinda way? Not that Link thinks about Rhett in underwear, but he’s got the right build for it—’cept he can change his build, can’t he?

Wait a sec.

“If you can shapeshift,” Link mumbles, stepping over a can Rhett’s pointing out to him, “why you keepa goat tail? Usually demons got… pointies. In movies.”

 _“Easy!”_ Rhett hisses, catching him when his foot lands sideways. _“Fuck, leadin’ you home’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”_

“M’sorry, Billy.”

Rhett stops and stares, shoulders going slack per curiosity. _“Billy?”_

“Billyyy _goat.”_

_“Oh, lord below.”_

A flash of cognizance hits Link, along with a slight groan. “Rhett, jus’ lemme sleep here. Yeah, I’ll prolly be mis’rable in the mornin’, but s’fine! That’s a problem for future Link. It’ll be okay.”

_“No. You’re not sleeping on the floor of a party.”_

“Why d’you care? Should be happy.”

 _“I’m fulfilled that you had a good time tryin’ stuff you’ve never done before. It’s enough. Come on. You can walk.”_ The coaxing is gentle, and soon they’re at the bottom of the staircase looking up. It stretches on forever, Link reckons, and he doesn’t even have ice picks for the ascent.

“I can’t,” he states, swaying in place until Rhett’s hands are on him again.

_“Shit. Okay—okay, listen.”_

_Rhett’s huggin’ me. Feels good. Feels right. Makes the bond stronger, maybe? Gotta be a reason why it feels so good. Close tether. Gotta be it. Tether together. Heh._

“Hmm?”

_“You’re probably gonna hate this idea, but. Let me walk you home.”_

“Tryin’, Rhett. Can’t—” Link throws a hand at the staircase. When he cracks his eyes open again to reconsider it, they instead flick over to Rhett. He’s so close. Ticklish beard on Link’s jaw. The demon has his forehead pressed to Link’s temple, pupils trained on Link’s. They’re human. His pupils, that is. “Can’t make it up there ‘less ya carry me.”

_“No, I meant… let me possess you.”_

A bit of clarity returns and cracks open the fog. “What?”

_“If I possess you, I can walk us home.”_

“Won’t you—be like _this,_ if you take my body?” Link gestures at himself. “Drunk, ‘n shit?”

 _“No. Not how it works,”_ Rhett rumbles. _“I’ll behave, too. Just wanna walk you home.”_

“I know you’d behave.” Before he can stop himself, Link’s hand finds Rhett’s cheek and he smiles, rubbing against the coarse thatch of facial hair. It’s unbelievably gratifying, how Rhett’s eyelids flutter closed. Despite how silly it had seemed at first, for him to get so… for lack of a better word, _drunk_ , on Link’s affection, Link would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel it too. Closeness feels right. Like letting two magnets rest near. “You’re a good boy, Vaz’gorhett.”

 _“You… you pronounce it better when you’re drunk,”_ Rhett breathes out in a chuckle, lips tugging up in a small smile. _“So stupid.”_

Link smiles too. _Hard not to, when your tether’s happy._

“Aight. Do it.”

 _“Really?”_ Rhett’s eyes open again and search Link’s, the red flaring out in his irises at the promise of exercising power. He’s attentive. Excited. Link’s grateful that no one else in the room has a view of them, standing where they are. To anyone else, Link knows he must look arrested and out of his wits. _“You mean it?”_

“Yeah. You can possess me. Bet it’ll feel even better, bein’ that close.”

Probably shouldn’t have said that last part.

Rhett lets out a long, low sigh that just about burns Link’s cheek with how warm it is. Otherworldly hot. Thrilling and scary, but… there’s trust there, as well.

_“Command me to. It’ll make it easier. I gotta turn off touch for it.”_

_Hate,_ Link thinks. But Rhett doesn’t do it yet. He’s waiting for acknowledgment. Or maybe for Link to brace himself on the wall so he won’t fall, and Link does so absently. “Hey, Rhett?”

_“Yes?”_

“Did—did you have a good time at this thing?”

If their faces hadn’t been pressed together, Link might not have seen that Rhett’s dropped his gaze further on Link’s features. _“I did. I’m sated. And if I weren’t, this is about to do the trick. Took good care of me today, master. Just wanna return the favor.”_

Link swells into another smile. He would cup Rhett’s face again if his hand weren’t fixed on the wall for support. “That makes me happy.” With a deep breath, Link readies himself and pushes out what doubt lingers in the corners of his mind. If he’s centered and committed, he has a feeling this will be better. For both of them. “Alright. Rhett, turn off touch.”

Rhett does. He slips through Link, the only telling sensation of their bodies overlapping another wave of heat. It’s uncomfortably cold where they don’t mix.

“Rhett, possess me.”

The demon shifts easily, stepping to consume the space Link’s inhabiting. The heat boils and writhes and runs white hot, Link’s chest constricts and heart hiccups to life and his fingers fill like gloves slipped on and his knees jolt into place and he snaps his head up to attention and—

 _“There,”_ Rhett mumbles. The words leave Link’s lips and Link blinks and sees Rhett hold out his hands. Stretches the fingers and turns the hands over, inspecting his new outfit.

Holy shit.

Everything is so crisp. Clear and focused and hyper-tuned to his surroundings. He’s here. It’s him, and he’s watching, and he’s alone now—Rhett’s gone—but he’s _not,_ and _fuck, we’re so close._

Can Link speak? Is he a singularity, are _they_ a singularity? No longer an individual?

“Rhett,” they say, and nod. _“I’ve got you.”_

When they move, it’s calculated and brisk and without an ounce of hesitation. They take the stairs two at a time, and Link knows he’s moving but can’t stop it. Wouldn’t want to if he could, but he doesn’t want to, and is in awe.

He’s present for this. Assumptions that he would be snuffed out and come to later with no memory of getting home are squashed and supplemented with the reality that he’s witnessing a movie through his own eyes. Can feel what they’re doing. Can feel the slide of the grainy banister under their fingertips, knows their muscles are contracting and carrying through with orders he isn’t giving, same as if he had. But he hadn’t. Rhett’s giving orders. Rhett’s in here with him, piloting, yet letting Link keep his wherewithal.

They quake with an exhale, and falter.

 _“You okay?_ Yeah. It’s just… it’s surreal.”

Through talking to themselves, they don’t stop. Rhett takes them outside and shuts the front door behind, only pausing for a moment on the porch to look up at the night sky pinpointed with flecks of light. The edges of the sky bleed orange. It’s beautiful. The sun is coming up.

 _“Bad weird?_ No. I—I really like this. God, if I’d known we could be this close, I would’ve asked you to do it sooner.” They bounce in place for a second before breaking into a jog, merging onto the sidewalk and keeping a brisk pace as they try not to laugh. “ _You’re drunk.”_

Are they? Is Link? He doesn’t feel drunk anymore. Never felt less drunk in his life.

“I mean it. Why does it feel so right? What is this, Rhett—why the fuck does touching and being together _feel_ this good?” Their feet pound the concrete in rhythmic slaps, eyes darting to check surroundings. Bushes, trees, birds chirping. _“You’re embarrassin’, bo. It’s ‘cause you’re a human.”_

They turn the corner at the end of the street. Rhett knows the way home without looking, apparently. “You always say that. _‘Cause it’s true. Humans go all loopy with endorphins when they’re allowed to touch a demon. Y’ain’t used to the power not hurting you.”_

Huh. Should that be a relief? It makes Link feel silly.

“Oh. Then… what about you? Why does it feel good on your end? I know it does. You… you act all, all soft and shit when I touch you,” they say, face burning together. They take in the fresh air, lips parting to get more oxygen for the run.

_“Maybe we should run in silence. Yeah?”_

 

* * *

 

They must be faster this way. The run home only takes ten minutes, and they’ve yet to break a sweat upon arrival. Evil or not, demons are truly something to behold on this plane of reality. They defy all sorts of logic and expectations.

“We’re here… thank you, Rhett. _Let’s get to your bed and I’ll detach.”_

The thought sends a chill up their spine, and they hesitate on the last step to the second floor of the house.

“Uhh.” They furrow their brow. _“You… you don’t want me to detach?_ I mean… dammit. Don’t tease me, alright? I like this.” They look around for a second, remembering to breathe and slowly starting the hesitant walk to their room. _“I can’t stay in here forever._ I know. _It’ll exhaust me._ I know.”

Their hand finds the knob, and they let themselves into Link’s bedroom. He’d told his parents he was gonna be out late, and with a glance at the clock, they make their way to the bed and set aside their sunglasses. It’s comin’ up on five in the morning. Good folks, not to worry like that.

 _“Come on. We’re layin’ down. You can brush your teeth first thing when you wake up…_ Okay. Gonna sleep in my jeans? _You want me to take your pants off?”_ They laugh, both humored and humiliated. “Not what I meant. _You really should just have me scram.”_

The words still them in the center of the bed, and they stare at the ceiling together.

“You could leave whenever you want,” Link says, and Rhett stays quiet. One hand reaches up towards the ceiling, turning this way and that and catching the dim night light’s glow. Their throat dips, tumbles into the next words. _“You’re fun to be in. A good match. Good body.”_

They blush.

Link remembers those eyes. The ones peering at him from the seat beside his own in psychology, and he’s at once overwhelmed.

“I-I wanna—” They squirm, and Rhett scoots over enough for Link to have agency. Their fingers dig back into their pocket, let it be there, please let it not be at the party somewhere… His phone. They pull it out, and Link swipes open the camera app easily.

 _“What’re you doing?”_ They press the front-facing option to switch cameras. “I wanna see us.”

And there they are.

It’s Link, lying in bed and looking perhaps a little worse for wear—hair jostled from running and skin paler than usual—but Rhett’s there, too. Green-gray, red around the human pupils. They flicker back and forth over the image, neck burning. “It’s us.” They tilt their head, attention locked on the only thing different about Link’s face. _“Mmhmm. What do you think?”_

They swallow. “Can you make y-your eyes—let them be yours...?”

They look away from themselves for a moment, something hot running in the space between, and when they look back, it’s Rhett, _truly._ Rectangular and bestial. Part of Link. _“Like this?”_ they ask, and they promptly shudder and let out a teetering breath. “Holy shit.”

A hand runs over their stubble. Link’s stubble. _“You like that, huh?”_

They can’t respond for a moment, but eventually give a weak nod. “We should join more often. Can’t explain it.” Rhett doesn’t say anything to that.

Before Link knows what he’s doing, their thumb’s hovering over the capture button. “You wanna pose? _We’re taking a picture together?_ I just—I want something to remember this?”

They chuckle, and Link’s heart drops when Rhett’s fangs aren’t in his mouth. He’s got sharp canines, too, but not sharp enough to pretend. “ _Fine.”_

Haltingly, they bring their free hand up and pause the bunched fist below their chin. Link’s confused until two fingers pop out in a peace sign, and it’s adorable because _Rhett’s doing it, Rhett chose a peace sign,_ and they burst into laughter to crease their goat eyes and snap the picture.

“Oh, my gosh. _Happy?_ You’ve no idea. Thank you. _Stop thanking me.”_ The phone falls to their chest and they take a calming inhale together. _“You know, I can possess you whenever you want. And it feels good to me, too. Fulfilling.”_

They tremble, and you know? Fuck it. Physical reactions are too damn telling. Link’s barren while Rhett’s inside of him. There’s no use trying to hide how euphoric he feels.

“Yeah. Okay.” Their fingers twitch, and they hum into their next thought. _“Link…_ Yeah?” Fingers rap next to the phone on their chest. _“You still drunk?_ Not when you’re with me. Why?”

They reach down slowly, and when their palm splays flat and strokes against fabric to outline their stiff arousal in their pants, they gasp.

“Oh, fuck… _Yeah.”_ They screw their eyes shut, shameful and in unison, but their hand doesn’t leave its perch and Link can’t tell if that’s his own doing or Rhett’s. Who’s controlling them?

Does it matter?

 _“I can’t believe you enjoy me this much,”_ they muse softly, and a roll of shivers nestles them into the comforter. Lips parting, mouth opening and closing around things one of them should say. “I—I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.” A shake of the head. _“Don’t apologize. Sometimes I think you forget I’m a demon, Link.”_

Their throat is dry. They palm themselves again—heavier this time, an insistent pet through denim that ekes a hiss from their throat. The friction is electric and tantalizing, and Link’s quickly losing his resolve. If it’s shameful, Rhett’s there too—in the shame, too. They’re here together, and Rhett’s not backing down, and it’s _good._

Link hasn’t jerked off since Rhett’s arrival, after all. It’s been an agonizing two weeks.

Another stroke, their fingers wrapping lightly around their cock through the pants, and this time, they growl. It’s deep and rattles their heart.

 _“Do you want me to stop?”_ they ask, and with a quivering jaw, shake their head just barely.

“No. Fuck, don’t stop.”

Regardless of Link’s begging, their hand stills. Cautiously, both make their way to the button and zipper of the jeans, and they bite their lower lip. _“You sure, pumpkin?”_

Nodding. Frantic and airless. “Yes, Rhett. Touch me—touch _us,_ make us feel good. I trust you. I want it.”

Then they’re fumbling, fingers flying on the restraints holding them back, each breath coming in shaky and greedy, needy and lustful. _“Fuck, Link. Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for a while now.”_

They moan, timid, thumbs digging under their waistband and shoving it down to free their cock. When they look down at it and turn it this way and that—taking in the begging redness of it and the way it twitches between their finger and their thumb, eager for attention—the familiarity of where the veins trail and the dark hair dusting the base, met with a hungry lurch of desire that definitely _isn’t_ contributed by Link—he knows it’s Rhett making them pour attention on it. Another breathy exhale escapes them, and a coy smirk finds their face.

 _“Don’t know why you didn’t ask me sooner. I would’ve, you know.”_ They spit into their palm and slick their fingers up as Link feels the heat coil in their gut at the confession. “Rhett,” they whine, and then Rhett’s stroking him—them, together.

Shit, is Rhett feeling it too? Does it feel the same, is the pleasure just as raw and buckling and perfect as it is for Link? How else would he know to tighten his grip exactly where they need it on their ridges? How to slip the pad of his thumb over the slit and flirt with the precum leaking out to drive Link wild in the exact way this body needs?

Their head falls back against the pillow, free hand toying up the bottom of their shirt to expose their abdomen. _“Want you to be loud for me, baby,”_ they say with a whimper. _“You never let yourself give in. Wanna hear how pretty you sound when you abandon appearances for me—what I do to you, when you give in and forget about bein’ chaste. Moan for me.”_

On command, they cry out low and lewd, and it sounds like Link—or it would have, if the tinge of crackling hearth underneath hadn’t lent Rhett’s timbre to it as well.

It’s so much. But Rhett isn’t stupid. He knows just as well that this body hasn’t gotten off in an achingly long time for how in its prime it is. That he’s a good-looking guy, and the restraint Link had been showing not to take out his filthy fantasies on his hand for fear that Rhett might hear and tease him or make fun of him…

He’d been willing the whole time. Wanting it the whole time.

Link’s touching himself, but he’s not. It’s Rhett. And that’s what makes them look down at themselves, to drink in the sight of how Rhett’s handling him now that he’s in control.

 _“Tell me how good it is,”_ they command, and a whine answers the request. “It’s so good, Rhett—oh my god, I’m—we’re gonna come so fast.” They keen, and the smile at their lips is lascivious and knowing. _“Good boy.”_ The free hand leaves their shirt and wanders up to their face, resting against the slope of their jaw, thumb pressing into their mouth. _“Suck.”_

They do, and Link loses himself in it.

Imagining Rhett pinning him to the bed, straddling his chest, jacking off over him—those eyes threatening to set flame to kindle as they burn into Link’s, teasing his mouth open and pressing the head of his cock onto Link’s waiting tongue. Fuck, his tether, _fuck his tether,_ and it would be gentle until Link commanded him not to be, and—oh, he would never, but the _idea of that_.

“Rhett!” they warn around the thumb, every muscle tensing, and the thumb slips, the hand focusing on cradling the side of their head. _“Yeah, baby. Fuck. Let go, Link—let it happen. Just like that!”_

Whether it’s Link or Rhett that yells upon spilling onto their stomach, Link doesn’t know, but it’s _probably_ him. Following the perverse wail is a string of dark expletives— _that’s_ Rhett, riding out their waves for them on a stuttering fist as they milk the last of the release onto their stomach in spurts.

Hugging themselves, convulsing, they try to regain their wits as breathing evens out.

Link is the one who maneuvers them to grab a tissue from his bedside table and cleans them up wordlessly. They toss it to the floor and fall limp against the bed, staring at nothing and letting their breath even out against the onslaught.

Everything is warm and tingly. They don’t speak for a while.

It had _just_ happened… yet already, a seed of worry germinates in Link’s brain.

He’d wanted it—it wasn’t an issue of consent on his part, though he knows he’ll feel drunk again once Rhett vacates and leaves him alone. If anything, it was an issue of consent on _Rhett’s_ half.

Link is the master, after all. Rhett just follows orders.

They swallow and scratch their chest absently, and Link’s about to say something when they speak. _“Don’t you dare.”_ They blink. “What? _Don’t apologize, or thank me, or any of that shit. I did it ‘cause I wanted to. Okay?”_ They blink again, and substitute the scratches for picking at their fingernails.

“Okay.”

Their eyes close. _“I can… I’ll leave now. Give you some space.”_

If he leaves, Link’s head will be cloudy again.

But at least he’d been sober for this. At least he’ll remember the important part of the night—the best part. It had been better than being sloshed or high, hundreds of times over, and he would get to keep the memory.

“Can I… ask a favor, Rhett?” A sigh. _“A favor, or a command?_ Only if you want to. Can you, uhh… can you detach, and… if you want… can you stay?”

They squint at the ceiling. _“Detach and stay?”_ One curt nod. “In bed with me. Just… I’d like it if you were near,” Link clarifies, and there’s a rushing sensation. Cold, so cold it feels wet—a vacuum being pressed against his entire body, sucking ripping _don’t go—_

And Link gasps, headache and booze crushing his mind, the lingering effects of weed fogging him now that he’s alone again. Tears well up in his eyes (god, it’s like being unceremoniously dumped into ice-water), but then Rhett’s there. Beside him on the bed, arms wrapping around him and nose burrowing into Link’s ear to let out a warm breath.

He’s there.

 _“Go to sleep,”_ Rhett prods, barely a whisper in Link’s hair, and Link melts and angles into him just so, reveling in the familiar warmth and contact that was a different breed of possession, but cherished all the same.

“Thank you. G’night, Rhett.”

 _“Mmhmm.”_ A moment later, _“Goodnight, bo.”_


	11. Side Effects

_It’s Saturday._

That’s the first sliver of consciousness that creeps into Link’s head, squeezing between the pounding headache and roar of blood in his ears. A cacophony of birds chirping. The sun streaming in hot and sticky through the window, like a sauna. He wants to open his eyes—to check the clock and confirm his suspicions that it’s egregiously early to rise for how late he’d fallen asleep—but the thick of sleep keeps his lids cemented, and he lets out a pitiful, guttural moan.

His brain threatens to crack his skull open with each beat of his heart. Whatever stubborn headache he’d been nursing for the past week’d been _nothing_ compared to this.

 _God,_ he’d drank. He’d drank and smoked and come home and…

And then things had been fine for a while. Comforting. Something nice had happened. Something for which he’d had full mental faculties. What had it been? Sleep relents the memory to him slowly, lets it sneak up on him on cat paws—or maybe, more accurately, pounce on him with horns and fangs.

Uhh. Did it count as mutual masturbation if they _both went at it in the same body?_

It’s already so hot in the room that the blush that finds Link’s face is painful. They’d _done that,_ and Link had begged for it, and Rhett had helped him, and that’s officially a line they’d crossed now. Whether he should be relieved or ashamed or thankful, he isn’t sure.

Rhett… Rhett had stayed with him after, right? Had held him as he fell asleep.

Without opening his eyes, Link lets his fingers explore. Reaches out to the spot beside him on the comforter where Rhett had been last, feeling and grazing the emptiness. Farther and farther until he meets the edge of the bed.

Maybe Rhett hadn’t stayed after all.

Forcing his eyes open to peer at his own mangled body twisted in the sheets, pants unbuckled and—oh, gosh, hopefully neither Mom nor Dad had come to check on him.

Rhett’s not there. His eyes track down the foot of the bed and throw the to the far side of the room. Rhett’s not in his hammock, either.

Link squints and surveys the rest of his room. Not in the armchair. The door is closed. He’s alone.

“The fuck?” Link croaks, letting his head fall back to the pillow, and nearly jumps out of his skin when his gaze aligns with Rhett’s.

“You’re awake,” the demon states. He’s lying on the ceiling, suspended perfectly above Link. His legs are crossed in a lounge, hellphone held on his chest with one hand and the other tucked above his head to cushion it from the ceiling.

“Oh, my god, Rhett.” While Link tries to come to terms with the evident fact that Rhett doesn’t obey the laws of gravity unless he wants to, Rhett’s eyebrows pin high in feigned interest and wait. “What… what are you _doing?”_

“Waiting for you to wake up.”

“On the ceiling? I thought you slept with me.”

“Nope. Waited ‘til you fell asleep. Been up here all night,” Rhett muses quietly, scrolling through something on his phone. Do demons have social media platforms…? And—wait a second, why the hell is he so nonplussed? Like—like last night hadn’t happened. He looks _bored,_ for heaven’s sake.

Link can’t think of how to question such nonchalance, but it doesn’t matter. His head is punishing his gall to wake up. Is this what a hangover feels like? If so, Link might never drink again. It’s brutal. Splitting. Stomach twisting into burpy illness and every muscle threatening to cramp up, Link hides his face in his hands and laments his consciousness. “I feel like I’m dying.”

“You might be.” Rhett sniffs and types something. “Dehydrated as hell. Best get up before you piss the bed.”

 _Thanks,_ Link wants to bite, but it’s not Rhett’s fault. It had been his own choice to drink at the party, to experiment with things for the first time in a place where peer pressure had gotten the best of him. In fact, Rhett had been about the only force that had ensured things hadn’t gone as horribly as they could have. Had walked him through how to smoke. Had gotten him home. Had taken him to bed and… _yep._

They’d done that. The realization comes in renewing, rolling waves.

With his cells in total revolt of his being, Link drags himself from bed and wobbles to the bathroom. Relieves himself. Brushes his teeth. Splashes cold water on his face and opens the top drawer of the sink to fetch painkillers. He takes one more than recommended with greedy gulps of cold water straight from the faucet. It should help—hydration. Instead, it makes his head pound worse, and he considers himself in the mirror.

Disheveled. Pale. Hair a mess. He _looks_ like he went to a party last night, and although he couldn’t feel more like trash even if he’d woken up at the dump, there’s a certain bizarre pride that comes with having ripped off that band-aid.

He got drunk and high at a college party. Done. A small smile defies everything to tug at Link’s lips as he watches himself.

Okay, he and Rhett had fooled around last night. It had been… pretty intense, by fooling around’s standards. (Not that he would know, but… some of the things Rhett had said in the moment, Link doubts are casually dropped during one-night stands.) But Rhett seems fine. And things could continue to be fine, so long as Link follows his lead.

 _It wasn’t a big deal,_ Link tells himself, looking into his own eyes. _Everything’s fine._

It’s hard to describe what happens in the next few seconds, but it’s something like this:

The next time he blinks, everything goes dark. He can still _see,_ but the colors are inverted.

Oh. That isn’t actually that hard to describe.

He freezes, white-eyed and blue-skinned and hair so blinding it glows on his shoulders. He blinks again. Nothing changes. The walls he knows to be mint-green are a deep, sickly purple, and when his mouth falls open, his teeth loom black in his mouth, rotten and irking.

 _“Rhett,”_ he whimpers instinctively, and there’s a ruckus from the bedroom that sounds suspiciously like Rhett free-falling to the bed and thrashing to free himself from the concurrent engulfment of sheets. When the demon appears in the doorway, leaning on it heavily, he stops.

Rhett looks normal. His colors are fine.

“What?” The demon checks around for the source of panic, glimpses in the sink before straightening and staring quizzically down at Link. “You asked for me, right?”

Link gawks up at Rhett and screws his eyes shut briefly—but again, nothing changes. Rhett’s shirt is still gray, his hair is still sandy, his eyes are still green and red. Slowly, Link raises his palms and considers them splayed in the air between them, speechless.

“Link?” Rhett tries again. He cocks his head down, tries to snap his attention away. “Y’look like you’re tripping. You okay?”

“I’m blue,” Link whispers as he locks eyes with him, and it’s a fraction of the truth, so he shakes his head. Tries to find a way to explain what’s going on. “Everything’s wrong.”

That’s not helpful.

Rhett’s brow furrows and he looks Link over once. “What kinda fuckin’ blanket statement—what do you mean, _everything’s wrong?_ You sad?” The hesitation and worry is as clear in Rhett’s tone as it is on his face. It’s grounding, in a way—to see the features Link’s grown used to remain as they should when everything else is… fucky.

“No, I mean…” Link looks around, blinking rapidly. “Nothing is the right color! Everything’s fucked up! ‘Cept for _you,_ you look normal. Why—what the fuck’s happening to me?” Companionship or none, it’s a struggle to remain centered when he’s not looking directly at Rhett. The rest of the world is a negative photograph. “Why are you the only thing that looks normal?!”

Rhett’s jaw slacks and he collects Link’s hands from the air. “Bo, calm down. I...” He gives his head a quick shake. “I honestly have _no idea_ what you’re talkin’ about, but if I look normal, then it’s… prolly gotta do with me,” he finishes, looking every bit as confident as Link feels.

Gaping, Link meets Rhett’s eyes. He doesn’t _want_ his next words to come out in a high warble, but there are a lot of things Link wants right now that aren’t happening. “You didn’t tell me that letting a demon jack me off would make me _blind!”_

“You’re not blind!” Rhett hisses, squeezing Link’s hands. “Right?! You’re _not_ blind?”

“Close enough!” Link cries, trying to pull away. “I can’t function like this! I have enough vision problems as is!”

“Link, _calm down.”_ Rhett’s on the verge of begging, and the strain in his voice is enough to fixate his tether. “I don’t know what this is, but we can look it up. Okay? Hellphone,” he reminds him, releasing one hand and digging into his pocket. “Let’s go sit down and I’ll find out why _the fuck_ humans are _so goddamn fragile!”_

The burst of worried rage humbles Link into stillness, and void of thoughts, he follows Rhett wordlessly to his room and sits beside him on the bed, listening to fingers tapping away as Rhett tries to find answers. He angles the phone between their laps so that Link can read as well, but looking at the screen burns his eyes and makes his head pound.

That’s right.

“I still have that headache, too,” Link adds quietly.

Rhett pauses long enough to give Link a look he can’t meet. He must know that Link means _aside from the hangover,_ ‘cause he doesn’t argue. Just another symptom to keep in mind. “Okay.”

Pressing his knees together, Link closes his eyes and waits. If he doesn’t have to look around, it’s not a problem. He can pretend nothing is wrong. Like his vision didn’t just nosedive off a cliff while he’d been in the middle of looking at himself. Thanks for that, universe.

“Rhett,” he wonders aloud, lost behind his lids. He doesn’t mean to whisper, but it’s fitting when he can’t see. “Do you think it was the possession?”

Several seconds of silence pass before Rhett’s hand finds Link’s and squeezes again, resting in his lap. “Maybe.”

“What if it never goes back to normal?”

“It will. I’ll find a way to fix it, since it’s my fault.”

“This never happened with any of your other tethers?” Link asks, and Rhett’s grip grows tight on him. Once more, his answer takes longer than it should.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Possession… didn’t cause this,” Rhett murmurs. With the hand that isn’t arrested on Link, he taps more. Searches. “Gotta be something else.”

“Rhett.” Link swallows. He smiles and a breathy chuckle escapes him. “Am I gonna die?”

 _“What?!_ No! You’re not dyin’, pumpkin, why would you—”

“Feels like I’m deteriorating,” Link explains. “First my head. Then my vision. What if it keeps going down? What if my senses get all fucked up one by one until it reaches my lungs, or my heart, or—”

“You’re _not going to die,”_ Rhett hisses. Link can’t help but notice that it sounds more like reassurance to himself than a promise to his mortal. “You got that?”

With a deep inhale, Link nods. “Okay.”

“Shit, _why can’t I find anything on fucked up vision?!_ Fine, then!” The sound of his phone hitting the bed isn’t encouraging. “Link, think carefully. When did the headaches start?”

“Wasn’t a series of headaches.” Link screws up his face in thought. Asking his brain to do anything is painful. “It’s like… one long, never-ending headache.”

“Okay, so when did that start?”

“Mmm. ‘Bout a week ago, I guess? When I started missing classes.”

“Link,” Rhett whispers. The brunet perks up, angles his head towards him. _“The bite.”_

Link stiffens.

 _No fucking duh._ Shit, of _course_ that’s when all of this had started! He’d—fuck, he’d been under the weather almost immediately after and hadn’t thought twice about connecting the dots. The sight bite. Something about the sight bite is doing this to him. A demon had bitten his neck, and now nightmarish things are happening.

He’s a squishy human experiencing the side effects of Hell.

“Wait a second.” Link thrashes Rhett’s hand off and presses his knuckles into his eye sockets. “You told me there wouldn’t be any negative side effects of being bitten!”

 _“No I didn’t!”_ Rhett snaps, voice high with indignation. “I told you that you wouldn’t _turn into a demon,_ but I never said there wouldn’t be side effects!”

Oh. Oh, yeah.

“Shit! Can you look up how to fix this?!”

“Y-Yeah, just… gimme a second.”

“Why didn’t you do that to begin with?!”

“It was—it was a heat of the moment kinda thing, shut up!”

“Rhett, _my eyes are fucked!”_

“I’m gonna fix it!”

Frantic tapping, and Rhett goes silent as he reads. Link waits, seeing colors dance at the pressure he’s applying. At least _this_ still looks normal. Kind of. No right or wrong answers here.

“Okay,” Rhett says, his timbre calming enough to blossom hope in Link’s chest. “Yes. Okay. We just need to rub some holy water on the spot you were bitten, and it should go away. You’ll be back to normal.”

At this, Link finally opens his eyes to scrutinize Rhett. “Holy water?” Rhett looks up and recoils, dropping his phone for the second time in five minutes. His lips pull thin as he stares at Link, and whether it’s an expression of fear, fascination, or disgust, Link can’t puzzle out. But it scares him, regardless. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Your, uh… your pupils.”

 _What about them,_ Link wants to ask, but he’s terrified of the answer. Rhett supplies it anyway.

“They’re all that’s left.”

 _“What,”_ Link mouths, eyebrows tenting severe in panic.

“No, like—your eyes. Are black.” Rhett leans in now, intent flicking between what _should_ be Link’s bright blues. “All over. Even the whites. Holy shit. They’re _so black._ ”

Link feels his lip tremble.

Rhett holds his hands up to keep distance between them. “It’s okay! It’s not… it’s not that noticeable?”

Standing, Link locates his now-white sunglasses from his bedside table and slips them on with purpose.

“Who wants to guide me to the nearest church?”

“Me,” Rhett whispers, rising and shoving his phone into his pocket.


	12. Catalyst for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While nothing is described explicitly, there is an implication in this chapter that is heavy and unpleasant. Please check the tags and take care of yourself.  
> If you need to pass, skip down to the end notes for a re-cap of this chapter.

So long as he can keep his eyes hidden, everything should be fine.

Link stands shoulder to shoulder with his demon, lingering at the mouth of the path leading from the sidewalk to the church’s entrance. The sky is burnt orange, the trees and grass and bushes are radiant neon purple, and the chapel itself is a screaming, unnatural gray.

The harshly pointed roof gives the place of worship the appearance of a brick barn dressed fancy with a steeple and tall, stained-glass windows. A large black-to-Link cross stands defiant on the manicured lawn between the duo and the building. Like a relic out of the 1800s, the entire lot is out of place and imposing for how close to home it had turned out to be.

The hanging sign with beveled letters painted gold reads _Divine Heart Church of Christ._

“Never been inside a church before,” Link breathes. He sees Rhett whip his head down in his periphery.

“What? Never?”

“Nope.”

“Wow. Didn’t think that was an option for humans,” Rhett ponders aloud. “Y’all’ve had the Bible stuck up your asses for millennia now.”

“I was raised without religion.” Why he feels the need to share now is probably a product of nerves. It’s irrelevant to the fact that he’s about to waltz into a place considered sacred and request to splash around in their holy water like a duck in a puddle.

“Fascinating,” Rhett bookends sarcastically, and Link deserves it.

“Okay, so… we go in, and—hell, do you think there’s a chance I can just find some holy water unattended? Without talkin’ to anyone?”

“Doubt it.” Rhett crosses his arms. “Priests get off on bein’ obnoxiously friendly and collecting sinners for their flock like stamps for an album. He’s gonna do everything in his power to make sure you join the congregation. S’kinda the whole point of his job.”

“Right,” sighs Link. “Right.”

“Listen, pumpkin.”

When had Link grown used to that nickname? And when had Rhett started using it without the same teasing bite with which he’d employed it the first time…?

“Yeah?”

“If it were up to me, we’d run in, beat up the priest, steal the holy water, shit on the altar, and run before anyone knows what’s up. But that’s not how _you_ do things.” He tries to pay Link full mind as he speaks, but the black sclera behind the sunglasses must be too unnerving to keep eye contact with, even for a demon. “So we’re doin’ things your way, ‘cause that’s how it’s gotta be for this. We both know it.”

Link doesn’t like where this is going. “Okay?”

“And we _also_ both know that you’re not the most… steadfast person, when it comes to choosing yourself before others.”

The fuck does _that_ mean, Link wonders, but images of Miriam and his parents and Jake flit through his mind, curdling the indignation in his gut into a kernel of truth.

Fine. He’s bad at standing up for himself when it comes at the expense of simpatico.

Rhett’s voice drops. “Usually, I’m more than happy to help with that. I hope that much’s been made clear over time.”

The air of confidence at the mixer. The help with Dr. Dreyer’s surprise visit. The reassurance when he’d been stoned at the party. All of those had been courtesy of Rhett, Link acknowledges distantly. He hadn’t asked for _any_ of those things. Rhett had simply been there and provided. Not a moment’s hesitation. The collective knits into a tight bundle and perches heavy on his brain for later unwrapping. Cheeks hot, Link rubs his arm.

“But here? When we go inside,” Rhett begins, eyeing the church, “I dunno how much use I’m gonna be.”

“Wait, why?” Straightening, Link finds Rhett’s eyes and manages to hold the contact despite how uncomfortable it seems to make his tether. “You—you can’t use your powers in a church?”

“Ehh. I mean, _technically_ I can, but…” Rhett passes another sidelong glance at the foreboding domicile of God. “It’s… harder.”

Link resets his train of thought to take in Rhett at face value. Normal colors. Arms crossed tight. Brow furrowed. Shoulders hunched. Leg shaking in place, tapping his heel against the sidewalk in rapid-fire. Tail— _his tail isn’t wagging._

“Rhett,” Link murmurs, and a bit of the stress slips from his own shoulders. The writhing nerves in his gut morph into something unbreakable, and he knows the answer to his softly spoken question before it leaves his lips. “Do churches scare you?”

A normal response would’ve been an eye roll, or a glare, or even a barking laugh of _don’t be stupid._ But the way Rhett drags his gaze to meet Link’s while chewing his lower lip with a protruding fang is _not_ a normal response. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Link’s heart sinks for his tether.

He’s scared. Probably for the first time in a long time.

“I can go in alone,” Link offers. “I bet our bond is long enough that you can wait out—”

 _“No.”_ The decisiveness is irrefutable. “I’m not—I’m not _scared_ , Link. It’s just a building. Priests are like—they’re like boogiemen for demons,” he shrugs. “Ultimately powerless. Exorcisms aren’t a real thing. But stories still get told down below, ‘cause even bad guys need villains. It’s all conjecture.” His tongue flicks out over his lips and he shoots a look over at the cross sprouting from the lawn. “Hard to explain. Can we just get in there and get this over with?”

Link doesn’t feel good about ending on that note—especially the part about Rhett evidently thinking he’s a _bad guy_ —but actions speak louder than words; the sooner they get out of here, the better Rhett will feel. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do this.”

It’s his turn to lead. To provide confidence and guidance, and watch out for his demon.

 _Master._ Masters take care of those in their charge, and with determination swelling in his chest, Link strides towards the imperial wooden doors. He’s going to do this. Rhett won’t be responsible for how this goes. He’d done enough already.

One hand braced on the door and ready to open it, he turns. Rhett is standing back a ways, staring up at the stained-glass depictions of Mother Mary haloed in light. His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are trying to reach his horns by the look of how tense they are. Sympathy pangs through Link.

“Rhett.”

Wordlessly, the demon looks at him.

“Here.” Link extends his free hand.

Rhett considers it pointedly. When he closes the distance between them and pulls one hand from his pocket, Link is half-expecting him to bat the offering away like an embarrassed kid. But his lids are low and face drawn when he slips his fingers through Link’s, clutching. His skin is warm and coarse in a paradoxical way that makes the roughness of it forgiving.

Instantly, everything is better. Tether contact… there really _is_ something significant about it, and Link hopes Rhett feels it too as he pushes the large door and it gives way with creaks and groans.

The cathedral is objectively beautiful, even inverted in color.

Tall, vaulted ceilings intricately hand-painted with ivy and flowers shelter rows of polish-slick wooden pews and a spotless sunburst-tile floor. Bibles poke out of the backs of benches. The altar is magnificent and gilded, spilling over with foliage and candles and the likeness of disciples and Christ in a triptych. Light floods in from outside, casting the room in an even darker haze than his tinted glasses already lend.

Miraculously, they’re alone.

Even more miraculously, there’s a thick stone basin elevated from the floor off to the side of the altar, and Link recognize it instantly from movies. What’s it called… a font? That’s their goal.

With his free hand, Link feels the place on his neck where Rhett’s fangs had punctured the flesh.

“That’s it,” Rhett manages to say, and the slight quiver in his voice kick-starts Link’s resolve.

“Come on. In and out real quick.”

Purpose-driven, he leads Rhett down the aisle. Every step tightens Rhett’s grasp, and by the time they’re at the altar, it’s a white-knuckled grip and Link feels it in every beat of his heart.

The still pool of holy water beckons them, and without hesitation, Link makes his way to it—but ends up pulling hard when Rhett doesn’t budge.

“I’m not going near that thing.”

Link gives him a face that’s hopefully concerned enough without having to elaborate vocally.

“I know it’s all stories. But… still.”

“That’s fine. Just give me a second.”

Their hands part, and Link rushes to the font like he’s holding his breath. Hovering over it with both hands clasping the sides of the fixture, he hesitates once, then dips a cupped hand into the water. It’s clean and cool. By all accounts, just… water. It doesn’t burn like a part of him had worried it might due to the affliction.

Carefully, he brings the water to his neck and splashes it on the site of the bite.

It’s instant. His vision seeps back into its normal hues with a relief so palpable it threatens to kick his knees out from under him. The headache—that _damned headache_ that’s been stuck in between his temples like a nail he can’t dislodge—it leaks away. If fixing his sight puts him on unsteady feet, curing the omnipresent ache in his brain brings tears to his eyes.

He’s back to normal. Back to human.

“Oh, fuck,” Link gasps, leaning heavy on the stoup and collecting himself. Grateful blinks drink in the world as it should be, whites and blues and greens and browns mapped correctly in his vision.

“Better?” Rhett asks imploringly from behind, and Link chuckles with relief, the tears slipping down his cheeks which he swiftly dabs away.

“Yeah. Oh, thank goodness. Feels great.”

“Good. Now can we get the fuck outta here, please?”

The creeping fear that Rhett might be inverted (or worse yet, invisible again) is destroyed when he sees that the demon is his regular self… albeit out-of-place, here. “Yeah, let’s—”

An unassuming door near the first row of pews opens.

A man in a black robe with a white collar, thinning hair, and wire frame glasses moseys into the room, attention already hyper-focused on Link. He carries himself with a formulated carelessness that masks the intention beneath, the same way Link had seen shy students linger to ask professors questions after the lecture. The priest is behind Rhett, and when Link stares past his tether in tight recognition, Rhett stiffens.

_“Is one behind me?”_

Link nods—should serve as both an answer and an awkward greeting—and Rhett bows his head and beelines to him, slinking to stand behind his human despite the fact that he’s now uncomfortably close to the holy water. One hand finds Link’s arm and squeezes, and Link steels himself, each quiver of his demon feeding the ember of bizarre protectiveness and stoking it into a fire.

S’just a priest. Nothin’ to be scared of. He’s friendly.

“Hello, my child,” the holy man says, unabashed and far louder than necessary. It rings against the walls, and Link raises his eyebrows. Alright then. “It’s not often that we get new faces who just… wander in to take a look around. I’m Father Puglish. Can I help you with anything?”

Rhett’s quiet. Link sucks his lips in and makes a noncommittal popping noise on releasing them. “Nah, I’m good. Wanted to see what kinda interior you were workin’ with, here. My folks are realtors and sometimes curiosity gets the best of me,” he shrugs. He’s saying more than he needs to and he can feel it. “Y’know, I always kinda thought I wanted to be an architect instead? Maybe the first person to break away from the schmoozing in my bloodline.”

The priest chuckles amicably. “That’s admirable. Please, feel free to take a look around. It’s an old temple, and quite beautiful.”

“Thanks, but I was actually just on my way out,” Link gestures to the door, and immediately, it’s the wrong thing to have said for an expedited exit.

“Oh? Well, that’s a shame. Do you mind if I ask your name, son?”

“Denny,” Link says without missing a beat, and Rhett clenches his arm, perhaps in wordless praise.

“Denny. Are you from around here?”

At this, Link cocks his head and runs his tongue over his teeth before breaking into a smile. “Wouldn’t make sense for me to stop in, if I weren’t.” Rhett’s hand abandons his arm, and Link takes that as his cue to inch towards the double doors. Regardless of how nice this guy might be, his demon is under duress, and that’s not gonna stand. “Nice meeting you, Father Puglish.”

“Of course,” the priest nods and folds his hands behind his back with a bowed head. “Oh, and—Denny? If you’re interested, tomorrow after service we’re having our monthly pancake brunch. It’s free to anyone, if you’d like to stop by and fill your stomach. They’re good pancakes, if I may say so.”

Dammit.

Dammit, why is being dismissive of kind people so _hard?_

“Oh. Thank you for the, uh, invitation… Father.” Stop talking. Don’t make a promise. “That’s very gracious.”

 _“Bo,”_ Rhett murmurs, and Link’s walking. Making his way to freedom, not looking back except to throw a belated wave at Puglish, excusing himself and his demon to the wonderfully-righted world outside where the sky is blue and the grass is green. The air is crisper than he remembers, and with a luxuriating inhale, he finally turns to beam up at Rhett.

“Easy peasy.”

_“Link.”_

“Hmm?” Link’s smile ebbs as he clocks Rhett’s face. Something’s wrong. “Hey—you okay?”

In one limp hand, Rhett holds up his hellphone. _“I looked that priest up.”_

“Yeah? What’d it say? Does he pee in the pancake batter?” The joke falls flat as Rhett rereads the screen in his hand. With an uneasy glance up at Link, he puts the phone to sleep and stows it.

_“Stay the fuck away from that guy.”_

“What…?” Link wants to laugh—a habit of nerves—but he wrangles it to a hollow smile. “Why?”

It quickly becomes apparent that he needs to get Rhett far away as soon as possible.

The demon’s pupils are tight, prickly pinpoints. His hair bristles as he stares down Link, lips curling to bare his fangs without meaning to, tendons bulging taut in his forearms and hands without meaning to. He looks like a loaded gun twitching to fire. A cornered animal begging for a stray hand to press its luck. Thank goodness Link can’t feel whatever aura he’s emanating that would pair with the sight of him like this—it must be abominable.

“Rhett, calm down! Why are you so worked up?”

_“Promise me.”_

“I promise! I’m never comin’ back here, I swear. Didn’t even wanna be here in the first place, and with how much you hate it, even if I _did_ want to come back, I wouldn’t! It’s not worth it.”

_“Don’t ever let yourself be alone with that man.”_

Icy, the words run up Link’s spine and affix him to the sidewalk. His lips part. He hazards one last look at the church, and the implication of what kind of person is shepherding the lost to earn this kind of ire from Rhett makes his stomach grind. “Rhett… are you saying…?”

_“Filth. Liar. Abuser.”_

There aren’t two ways to interpret that.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” whispers Link, and Rhett seethes and boils and spills scalding oil from his tongue the longer they stand.

_“No punishment good enough. No distance far enough between you. Lives too close, Link. Danger. Shitstain, waste of flesh—”_

“Rhett! It’s—well—it’s not okay, but you gotta calm down for a sec! Come back to me,” Link begs, letting his hand find Rhett’s cheek. He caresses it in a now-practiced motion, and Rhett’s snarl eases. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and for the first time since they’d arrived, his tail begins to wag at his back. “There you go. Easy.”

_“Sorry.”_

“Don’t be sorry. Rhett…” Link knows that to any bystanders, it looks like he’s cupping the air in front of him and talking to his outstretched limb, but that’s fine. Not important. Not when _this_ is information to digest. “Are you sure? ‘Bout what you read?”

 _“Yes.”_ When Rhett’s eyes open, they’re human, and brazenly sad. Apologetic—almost like he’s chagrined that he had to be the one to tell Link.

But.

If Rhett hadn’t found out, and hadn’t told Link…

Link swallows hard and nods. “Okay. I can’t let someone like that get away with that kinda shit.”

Rhett perks up slightly, turmoil lifting from his features. _“What are you gonna do?”_

 _“We’re_ gonna do somethin’ about it,” Link nods, and a smirk finds him.

This is it.

This is a big ticket thing they could work together for. Do good for the community while simultaneously feeding Rhett in a way far more intense than he’d enjoyed thus far. Using his powers for things that were just and righteous, even through an avenue of evil.

“How would you like to take down a corrupt priest with me, Vaz’gorhett?”

Like magic, how Rhett’s eyes glaze over, entranced and tantalized.

_“Fuck, yes.”_

“Such a good demon. You’re gonna be great at this,” drawls Link with an affectionate smile, and Rhett shivers happily under his touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference in this chapter is not going to get more description later or be elaborated on in future chapters, I promise. This was the worst of it.
> 
> Re-cap:  
> Rhett and Link go to a church and cure Link's headache and vision with holy water. Rhett is scared the entire time.  
> Link meets a priest named Father Puglish, and upon leaving, a very upset Rhett tells him that Father Puglish is wicked, based on his hellphone intel.  
> Link calms Rhett and asks if he'd like to help take Father Puglish down, to which Rhett agrees.


	13. A Human's Agency

“You wanna tell me why we’re here, or…?”

Link holds up at the corner of the street, firing off a text while standing apposite at a stop sign. “In the neighborhood… mind if I… swing by,” he reads aloud as he texts, postponing his response to Rhett in a way that makes the demon sigh in aggravation. “Forgot to chip in… cash… the other night. Send.”

“You got high and drunk for free. Most folks would wear that as a badge of pride, not find a way to dish out money when no one’s bringin’ it up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not ‘most folks’,” Link smiles, pocketing his phone. He finds Rhett watching him with a blank expression and plunges on. “Besides—everything we planned out last night was great, but this is a way _I_ can contribute to taking down Puglish. I have an idea.”

Rhett folds his arms over his chest and sneers down his long nose at his human. “You already _do_ contribute. You’re the conduit. You’re the one deciding that it’s gonna happen.”

“Yeah, but the powers are all yours,” Link points out with a shrug. “Without you, I’m just an idiot running around without agency. This is a small way I can feel… y’know. Useful. Not totally reliant on you.”

“Link.” Rhett curses under his breath and gazes down the street towards Jake’s house. “Fine.”

“We’re partners, yeah? Just wanna pull my weight.” The phone buzzes, and Link checks it to find permission. “Says it’s cool, but we can’t stay long ‘cause he’s headin’ out in a bit. Works for me.”

In daylight, Jake’s house doesn’t feel much different—still inordinate enough to make Link wonder what kind of vocations his parents must have to afford such a place. Patting his wallet in his back pocket, he rings the doorbell to an iconic _ding-dong,_ and a moment later, Jake fills the doorway with a tired smile. Despite his sleepy facade, he’s well-groomed. His soft hair is tucked behind his ears and today’s plugs of choice have rainbow swirls on them.

“Yo, man. Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

Skylit from spacious windows and reflective, spotless white walls, the house is even more extravagant than Link remembers as they head to the living room. Jake sits on the couch and hunches over the glass coffee table, tending to—oh. It’s weed again. Guess his parents aren’t home if he’s being so blasé about it. Or… hell, maybe they are. Link kinda gets the feeling Jake’s folks don’t much care one way or another. 

“Despite your best efforts, you really didn’t put much of a dent in the shit we had rollin’ in that night,” Jake explains in a gravelly voice as he selects a clump of pot and drops it into a cylindrical device. He closes it and turns it expertly, wrist flicking to produce crunching noises and grating shrieks of metal. “I’d be happy with a tenner.”

Pulling out his wallet, Link checks the bills he’d come prepared with: sixty total, all in twenties. He glances at Rhett, who’s hovering over his shoulder and watching Jake’s handiwork with interest. 

“Actually,” Link begins, and takes a seat in one of the armchairs opposite, “I was wondering if you ever sell?”

Jake freezes, attention snapping to his houseguest.

 _“What?”_ Rhett asks, and Link secretly relishes the disbelief in his tone. Shocking your own haunter? Good on you, Neal. Not so vanilla after all.

“Seriously?” Jake chuckles, setting his project down. “Fuck yeah, I sell. That’s the whole shebang, dude. You need a hookup?”

“Maybe,” murmurs Link, crossing his legs and leaning back into his seat. Dang, it’s soft. Fitting for someone who suddenly feels like a seasoned mobster. “Is weed _all_ you sell?”

_“Bo, what the fuck?”_

At this, Jake grins. The thrilled pleasure of having someone press a little harder on the matter—go a _little_ deeper with him is evident on his face. If Rhett had been excited about some of the ideas Link had pitched last night, this is obviously Jake’s equivalent. “What’re you lookin’ for?” 

Panic—but only briefly. Link plays it off with a frown. “What’ve you got?”

“Shit, man. I got shrooms, pills, DMT, coke, acid. I _knew_ you were into some fun stuff when you got crossed at the party,” Jake laughs. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, talking shop. Where some people get off rambling about music or books, this must be Jake’s raison d'être—his passion. It’s almost endearing, how innocently excited he is; like he doesn’t realize he’s pushing what a lot of people deem to be what’s wrong with society. “What’s your ride of choice?”

Acid. Shrooms. Those sound promising. 

A priest on coke or pills wouldn’t be much to write home about, honestly. Hell, America's been through some times where it was _expected_ of white men in power to take drugs like that. But hippie-ish ones? Ones that belonged at a rave or a music festival? That's the stuff that would find its way to the ears of the congregation.

“How much you charge for acid?” Link asks casually. He’s proud of himself for sounding like he’s done this before.

“That’s funny, I _did_ peg you for a trip kinda guy,” Jake beams. He jumps to a stand and heads for the basement door, bubbling over his shoulder, “Be right back!”

 _“What the fuck are you doing?!”_ Rhett hisses, hands clamping hard on the arm of Link’s chair. _“What part of taking down a priest involves buying drugs?!”_

Link blinks at him, takes in his white-knuckled grip on the leather for a few moments. “We’re gonna plant it. Even if we can’t find evidence of the stuff you told me about, we can still put him away for something else.”

_“You have no idea what you’re getting into, giving someone like this your business, you numbskull! There’s a reason I didn’t tell you Jake’s a dealer.”_

Hey. That’s right. 

“You _didn’t_ tell me Jake was a dealer,” Link echoes with a squint, glaring up at Rhett. If anything, that just matches their scowls. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me at the mixer, when I was deciding whether or not to talk to him in the first place? Don’t you think that could’ve been _relevant information_ if you were really tryna keep me safe?!”

 _“The fuck it matters now! You’re askin’ him of your own free will, and we don’t need_ him _in our plans—you’re being reckless!”_

“You should be happy! I’m doin’ things that’re considered ‘bad,’ aren’t I? Shit that’s bad for the soul, immoral, illegal—you should be into this! When we met, you used to gimme hell because I was too ‘good’ for your tastes. And now that I’m doing it—this _one thing_ —you’re chewin’ me out!” Link shifts to angle himself defiantly up at Rhett, who leans back in thin shock. “What changed?” 

Rhett’s face twists in distaste as he looks Link over.

Link rolls his eyes, committing to silence when Jake’s rushing footfalls on the staircase announce his return. 

“Okay,” he says, hands full of neat little airtight baggies, “I dunno how much you’re lookin’ for, but I’m willing to cut you a deal. How many blots you want?”

Shit. How much would be damning to find on a priest? Probably wouldn’t take much. More than one, at least. More than one implies it’s a habit. And what _is_ a blot, anyway? Link hunches forward to examine the baggies Jake’s laid out on the table. They’re full of tiny squares of perforated paper, each with a smiley face. 

So… one piece of paper is a blot, then? And… one blot is one dose? Rhett’s quiet, neither looking anything up nor doing anything of consequence besides taking a begrudging seat on the arm of Link’s chair. Since this is happening either way, the guy could at least be helpful.

“Should probably start small, since I’ve never bought from you before,” Link feigns with a glance up at Jake. He chews his lip and hopes he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. “How much for two?”

“Two, I’ll do fifty, for ya. This is some good stuff, too, man—I promise you’ll like it. I’ll even throw in some joints.” From one pocket he produces two latex gloves and sets about portioning out the agreed-upon substances, Link watching and feeling incredibly out of his element as the dealer works with practiced fingers. “Part of the discount is that you’ll think of me in the future when you need stuff, yeah? I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure.” Link’s throat is dry. “Money tight?”

“Nah, I do this for fun. But I take it seriously,” Jake shrugs, rolling up the bag and offering it to Link. The brunet hesitates, noting the difference when his own bare hands grasp the contraband. He’ll just have to switch out the bag later, with gloves of his own. 

“Thanks,” he nods, replacing the money in his wallet with the acid and sitting back.

“No problem. Happy to do business.”

“So… I guess I’ll get out of your hair, then. I know you said you have somewhere to be.” Link stands, but just as quickly Jake’s patting down the air in front of him. 

“Hang out for a second, man! I was gonna light up before heading out, and I’d love company for it.”

 _“Surprise, surprise,”_ Rhett jeers, bringing a hand down to pat Link’s head in spurn. Doing his best not to bat him away, Link glances around and rubs his palms on his jeans. 

“I don’t wanna impose—”

“Nonsense, bruh. It’s all good.” The speed with which Jake rolls a fresh joint right there on the table and the hesitation with which Link for some reason _sticks around to watch_ settles the matter. Jake gets it started, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep inhale to hold, before sighing in relief and passing it to Link with instantly-hazy eyes.

_“I’m not walkin’ you home again.”_

That… wow, that _shouldn’t_ hurt Link’s feelings.

Link brings the joint to his lips, bracing himself to smoke again when Jake slaps his knee and stands. “Shit. Forgot my phone. Be right back.” He ambles off and leaves them alone, and Link examines the burning joint in his hand, tracing the admittedly beautiful red cherry of it with his gaze.

He isn’t sure what gives him the thought to do this, but he stands as well, turning to face Rhett and hold it up between them. 

“You wanna smoke?”

Rhett glowers, lips thin as he scrutinizes it and Link on loop. _“Fuck’s sake.”_

“C’mon, Rhett. Y’ever done it before?”

_“‘Course I have.”_

“And did you enjoy it?”

_“Yeah. But this is different.”_

“How?”

_“It just is.”_

Something about the way Rhett’s avoiding his eyes is telling. Link smirks and nudges his glasses up. 

He knows: Rhett would walk him home in a heartbeat… assuming he has a heart. The guy just wants to make sure he _can_ , if he needs to. Stay in a righted mind. 

‘Cause that’s the kind of person he is. He’s good. Always watching out for his master.

But he shouldn’t have to worry about that. He should be able to cut loose, too—even in a non-demonic way.

Link places the joint between his lips and inhales deep, struggling not to cough against the burn of unfiltered smoke. Once at lung capacity and straining to hear signs of Jake that don’t come, he beckons Rhett forward with two fingers and croaks, “C’mere.”

The look of curious surprise on Rhett is endearing. Cocking an eyebrow, he leans forward just so, and Link does his best to recreate what he’d seen at the party two nights ago. Had heard it referred to as _shotgunning._

He closes both his eyes and the distance between them, nerves rattling in his begging chest when his nose bumps Rhett’s. When their lower lips brush together due to Link’s carelessness, it sends a shiver spilling down his shoulders which he quickly dismisses. This isn’t an intimate act—strangers had been doing it the last time they were here. Rhett must’ve seen it as well. So when Link opens his lids just enough to exhale and watch the smoke pour thick into Rhett’s parted lips, he fights down the heat coiling in his neck and cheeks.

Rhett’s eyes are open, too. Low and on Link as the last tendrils of smoke vanish into his mouth, and Link pulls away, throwing his gaze around to break their proximity. 

Rhett holds it, holds it, _holds it,_ then lets his breath out through his nose in two cloudy plumes, reminiscent of a bull. Link swallows.

_“Huh. Alright then.”_

“Sorry I didn’t ask.”

_“S’fine. Thanks for including me, I guess.”_

And then Jake is back, and he takes the joint from Link without looking up from texting. “I’m later than I thought I was. Gotta go. Sorry we can’t chill more.”

“It’s okay,” Link nods, grateful to have gotten away with only taking one hit.

One hit that Jake hadn’t even seen. Link hadn’t even needed to smoke. But he had, just so he could—uhh.

Over the next few minutes Link pardons himself to the front door with a wave and exchanges a _see you later_ for a _text me, man._ And just like that, he’s stoned outside on a beautiful fall day with his tether. Who’s also potentially somewhat stoned.

“That went better than it could have,” Link says to both himself and Rhett as they fall into step together on the sidewalk. 

Rhett remains silent. Maybe it’s just a symptom of the weed? Some people get quiet when they’re high. Link remembers that much. 

He can’t help passing glances over at his companion, trying to read what kinda mood he’s in. What—if any—effect the marijuana has on a demon’s brain. But Rhett’s stoic and calm, checking both ways for a clear street before striking out on a crosswalk. 

They’re halfway home when Link can’t take it anymore.

“Hey—you okay?” he asks, nudging Rhett with his elbow. 

Sometimes he wishes he had a nickname for the guy. Rhett had ‘pumpkin’ and ‘bozo.’ Even words like ‘stupid’ didn’t roll off his tongue with quite the same vitriol they once had.

“Link,” Rhett sighs, looking up to the sky in thought. The way he’s walking with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets like they always are but paired with a weird air of seriousness doesn’t put off a feeling of comfort. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

Instead of agreeing, Link waits.

“You’re gonna go back to school, right?” Rhett looks over at him, tight gray eyes reddened at the corners.

Whatever he’d thought was going to come out of Rhett’s mouth, that hadn’t been it. Link chuckles nervously, turning his attention forward: to the beautiful day and the falling leaves and gracious lack of cars on the street. “I think it’s funny that you care.”

“You only just started college and you’ve missed an entire week. You didn’t bother emailing your professors the last two days.”

“Dr. Dreyer said my absences are excused.”

“So you _are_ going back, then?” Rhett asks curtly, which tightens Link’s stomach. He shrugs with limp arms.

“I guess? I’m just livin’ one day at a time, Rhett. To be honest… things changed when you got here, and I’m rollin’ with it. Havin’ fun. Not that discoverin’ that a disgusting priest lives nearby is _fun_ , but you gotta admit, putting him in his place is gonna be,” he goads with another playful elbow. “There’s more important stuff to do. And besides—I don’t think you wanna be trapped in a classroom for most of your time here, right?”

Rhett stops.

Link only takes a couple more paces along before turning to examine him. “Right?”

“It’d still be time spent with you,” Rhett points out with an equally-limp shrug, and the flutter in Link’s chest is unbidden. Out of place yet right at home, all at once.

 “Don’t worry ‘bout me. We’re havin’ fun. I’m doin’ what feels right.” Link smiles reassuringly. “You’re real weird when you’re high.” Rhett doesn’t argue, and catches up with Link in measured steps, their eyes locked.

“Maybe.”

“Come on.” With less hesitation than the day before—and with the fresh memory of Rhett’s lips grazing his own—Link twines their fingers and pulls him along, the contact instantly smoothing over rough edges. “We gotta get ready for tomorrow night.”


	14. Partnership and Use

“How’d you know I’d be able to do this?” Rhett asks over his shoulder, giving the car door his full attention.

“Call it a hunch,” Link whispers from his kneel behind him. Rhett’s been jimmying the lock for a while now, but apparently when you’re a demon, that consists of running your fingers over the mechanisms in complex patterns. It’s convenient that they don’t need a coat hanger.

Sneaking out of the house had been easy. Despite his strange behavior as of late, Link’s parents trust him blindly, and that works out just fine for everyone. It’s not like he’s not a bad person, after all. Or… he’s at least on the winning team tonight.

The autumn air is cool and it nips at his bare wrists and neck and brags that he should have worn something heavier than an olive green jacket over a black sweatshirt. It would be misleading to say that Rhett had planned better—when you can shift the clothing on your body at will, it’s less impressive to be perfectly dressed for any given occasion. The demon looks good in a long-sleeve gray shirt. The skin of his eye sockets is darkened. A bizarre aesthetic choice, but it kinda makes him look extra up-to-no-good, so that’s fitting.

Link checks his phone. A quarter ‘til 3 a.m.

“Can you tell where he is now?”

Rhett grunts and licks his bottom lip in frustration—whether that’s courtesy of Link distracting him or the door perhaps giving his powers a run for their money, it’s unclear. “We haven’t given him reason to wake up. Should still be asleep.”

“What if he sees us?”

“I dunno. What would you _want_ to happen? I can kill him.”

“Don’t kill him.”

“He deserves it.”

“True. But he _also deserves_ to answer to the people he’s harmed. Their families. They need some kinda retribution, Rhett. S’why we’re doin’ this in the first place.” The second floor of the house is still dark, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a back-up plan just in case. “Couldn’t you just… wipe his memory?”

“Sure, if you want. I could even possess him and make ‘im call himself in.”

“No. That’d be letting him off too easy,” Link says, eyes jumping between the unlit windows looming above. “He needs to feel _fear_.”

Rhett hums happily, splaying a palm against the door. “I like this side of you. You should get vindictive more often.” When his full-contact tactic doesn’t work, Rhett presses his ear to the paint and continues swiping away at the handle like it’s a dating app.

Link smiles up at the full moon in the star-speckled sky. That’s a fun coincidence for a witching hour spent terrorizing a priest. “I’m not gonna go seekin’ injustices out like a vigilante, but if something like this falls into our lap? You bet your ass we’re gonna do something about it.”

“You say _day-mon,_ I say _dee-mon.”_ With one last unnerving flourish of Rhett’s fingers, the door pops. He pulls it open like a chauffeur for his human. “Fuckin’ finally. Have at, bo.” 

“Didn’t take _that_ long.” Link chuckles and digs the freshly-prepared baggie of blots out of his pocket with gloved hands. “Thanks, Rhett.”

“My pleasure.”

Link makes short work of the task by dropping the bag of drugs into the middle console. Once again outside of the car, he pulls off the latex countermeasures, stuffs them in his back pocket, and dusts the deed off on his jeans. “Feel good?” he wonders at Rhett, and the demon flashes his fangs in an alacritous grin.

“Not as good as what we’re _about_ to do.”

Link’s chest heaves in a sigh as he takes in the house for the umpteenth time. It’s a nice place. Unassuming. The hedges book-ending it from the neighbors’ are neatly trimmed, and he’s sure that by day, the light blue shutters are charming. Not the house’s fault that scum resides inside. “Think you can break in?”

 _“Duh._ I might’ve struggled with the car, but that’s just ‘cause smart tech’s a pain in the ass. Regular old door locks?” Rhett sneers up at the house, and Link tries not to laugh at the expression on his face. Like he’s about to give the entire building a swirly and steal its lunch money. It’s endearing, in a fucked-up way, how much pleasure Rhett derives from this. “Somethin’ flammable you can spray. Easy peasy.”

“I know you said there weren’t any cameras out here when you did your walk-around,” Link starts, grabbing Rhett’s shoulder to request his attention. When he gets it, it’s pointed and rapt, listening intently. “But there’s a good chance he has some set up inside the house. It’s common these days.”

“Right,” Rhett nods, brow furrowing.

“Which is why—if you see any—I really want you to make a show.” Link smirks at the childlike frisson that makes Rhett’s jaw go slack.

_“Really?”_

“I mean, you gotta stay quiet; we don’t want him waking up. But if you see a camera? Do some ghostly shit. Pick something up. Rustle papers. There’s a good chance his security footage will be checked and shown to him. Can you imagine?” Link snorts, and Rhett literally rubs his hands together like a cartoon villain.

“Oh, lord below, that’s such a good idea.”

“Go get ‘em, tether.”

Rhett doesn’t need to be told twice. He clears the porch in two steps and has his hand on the knob when he stops and stares back at Link, face drawn and disappointed.

“What?”

“It’s unlocked. Would you believe that?” Rhett scoffs and rolls his eyes, and Link presses his knuckles to his mouth to keep from laughing as Rhett vanishes into the abode. 

If there’s a security system, it doesn’t trip. Not that a person who leaves their house unlocked at night would likely be the kind to buy home protection. Just another stroke of luck for team neighborhood watch. 

Rhett might be invisible to human eyes, but Link isn’t, and he crouches near the front porch to listen for passing cars. But it’s the dead of night in a relatively small Raleigh suburb, and that alone seems to give them a cloak of secrecy. They’d walked here on foot and had only seen two cars, neither of which had slowed to pay the lone young man on the side of the road any curiosity. 

Huh. A month ago, he would’ve been terrified of walking alone at nighttime. But he isn’t alone anymore, even if it looks that way. The thought makes his chest warm in the bitter breeze, and the heat only worsens when he realizes that temerity comes from the acknowledgment that it’s _Rhett_ with him. He has his own personal bodyguard. 

God, Rhett would have a _field day_ if someone with ill intent tried to pull anything. Having an ‘okayed’ excuse to harm, ‘cause his master’s in danger? Link hopes that never happens. Kinda. 

Fine, sue him. Feels good to be so vehemently untouchable. And he paid for it, so why the hell shouldn’t he enjoy the prospect?

He rests his cheek on his hand and watches the dark doorway of the house. 

Five years. That's another thing that’d changed in the past month: once, that timer had sounded like a death sentence. An unbreakable contract of a demon’s company for such a long time, no way out. But… that also had been before he’d realized what it's like to never be alone. 

Before he’d learned what a kind (albeit dark) entity Rhett is. Before the late nights spent explaining that Hollywood sets aren’t real places and that ‘bless you’ after a sneeze is just common courtesy, not something deserving of a death glare. Before the ribbing and the nicknames and the physical contact that settled their souls effortlessly in unison. 

If Rhett is damned and touching him soothes Link, maybe Link had been damned all along, too.

Then Link is snapped from his thoughts by Rhett appearing in the doorway wiggling a can of spray paint. The metal bead inside rolls around harmlessly, and Link hopes he can use it without making a ruckus. 

“Perfect. See any cameras?”

“Just one. Trust me—when Father Fuglish sees his cat’s hair standin’ on end as a door opens and closes with no one there, he’ll shit himself,” Rhett smiles, passing the can off to Link as the brunet chuckles. “I’ll never get used to animals freakin’ out when they see me.”

“Awesome. Alright… which room’s his?” Link motions to the windows on the second floor, and Rhett shrugs. 

“Does it matter? Go big.”

“Good idea.”

Link turns and examines his canvas: the front yard, with its plush grass recently mowed and stretching from corner to corner of the lot. He selects a starting point, gives the bottle a quick swirl to ready it, and begins spraying, hunched over and moving fast, but drenching the lawn thoroughly with black aerosol paint. 

Maybe it’s the fact that Rhett’s watching with a tickled smile, or maybe he’s so tired that he’s slap-happy, but a rush of silliness tingles Link’s limbs, making fast work of the first letter. Sure, it’s stupid—but it won’t be to the people who see it. To them, it’ll be the most horrifying thing to happen to their little circle in years. 

Even layered on thick, the paint is drying fast, so when the word is finished, Link gives one last check for the sound of cars on the street. He runs back to the first letter and beckons Rhett over, who joins him in an instant. “Ready?”

 _“Yes, please,”_ Rhett’s voice drips, and Link nods.

“Do it.”

Rhett snarls and snaps at the letter, and it bursts to life in flames that lick up from the fuel, spreading quickly and forcing Link to take a step back. Adrenalized, he nods. There’s a fear that comes with setting fires that he can’t help bow to—such an intense phenomenon. 

Or maybe that’s just Rhett. 

“The next. All of ‘em—do it, Rhett. Be good for me.”

Three more brimming snaps and the word _HELL_ is rip-roaring in the grass, the glow dancing bright enough to reach the under-boughs of the trees on the far side of the street. Link almost wishes he could see what it looks like from the second floor. He’ll have to trust his own handiwork that it’s legible and neat and not reminiscent of shitty graffiti.

Rhett dissolves into absolutely delighted laughter and swivels to gauge Link’s reaction, and—wouldn’t you know it—Link’s beaming, too. It looks _good._

“Fuck, Rhett!”

_“This is the best thing ever! I’m so happy!”_

“One last thing. We gotta go, but you remember, right?” Link begs, finding Rhett’s eyes and asking clarity of him as his demon stumbles over, drunk on the rush of being useful. 

Rhett winks—something he’s never done before—must be riding the high of arson—and points a finger gun at the second floor before pulling the ‘trigger.’ _“Pew.”_

With a snort of amusement, Link drops the spray can into the fire and hurriedly pulls Rhett away by the arm, across the road to their designated viewing spot. As if they’d do all this and _not_ hang around at least to catch Father Fucker’s reaction. “Seriously? That’s all it takes to give someone a horrific nightmare? _Pew?”_

 _“Child’s play!”_ Rhett bounces, now the one leading Link with excess energy. _“C’mon, let’s find our seats. The show’s startin’!”_

As planned prior, they crouch low in the thick trees, well-hidden considering there’s the work of a demon to behold. Rhett’s fire burns wicked hot and vibrant red, the embers carrying up into the sky and mingling with the stars. It doesn’t take long for the spray can to explode in a violent popping alarm clock, and Link secretly hopes it might’ve done some damage to the priest’s car.

When a figure appears at the window with wide eyes and a pale face, only to vanish and return with a phone held to his ear, an overwhelming sense of satisfaction envelops Link.

They’d done that. 

This would be in the news. Authorities would investigate, and events would snowball about motives. They’d find the drugs, and Puglish would be put away. Excommunicated. No one would know that a demon and his man had taken down a twisted figurehead in the community, and that people would be protected because of it.

Link is ripped back to reality by the sudden wail of sirens nearby. _Far_ closer than they had any right to be. 

 _“Shit!”_ he gasps, backing farther into the woods, instantly earning Rhett’s snapped reverie. “Dammit, there must’ve been a cruiser—Rhett, we gotta—”

 _“Let’s go, then!”_ Rhett grins, and his hand is on Link’s before the brunet can make a decision. He’s pulling, leading them through the dense trees, away from the road, away from the fire, away from the potential gaze of the sickly ex-priest and what was soon to be dozens of police officers with flashlights or dogs. 

Rhett’s fast. He leaps over downed logs and ducks under branches in a way that barely gives Link time to copy his movements as they run. Heart pounding, shoes muddying with each additional bound, listening to the sound of promised confinement fade a bit more with every passing second. 

There’s no way Rhett has a plan. He doesn’t know where they’re going. But then again, neither does Link, and once he embraces that, he’s no longer being dragged. Eyes adjusted, lungs fighting for oxygen, he clambers and tears through the forest shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhett, only parting occasionally to avoid a tree, but always returning to one another’s side when possible. 

He can’t guess how long they’ve been running when he has to stop, effectively winded. The woods are quiet, save for crickets returning to life once they realize they’re safe and the interim hoot of a barred owl in the distance. Link’s back finds a tree and he falters, gulping down chestfuls of air through an exhausted smile.

His demon’s watching him, taking steps to be near him again as he usually does.

“Holy shit, Rhett. We—”

Hands find Link’s face and Rhett swells forward to kiss him, crushing their lips together with such fervency that it tears the smaller one’s breath away.

He’s warm, and large, and comforting, yet Link is too stunned to move—he can’t even find the wherewithal to close his eyes. 

Rhett doesn’t, either. He’s watching the color blossom on his human’s cheeks with possessive heat, bowing his head slightly so their foreheads touch, attention deep and seeking. He pushes heat out through his nostrils that smells of smoke and familiarity, beard scratching at Link’s chin, each spot grazed-over running electric with friction.

Then—just as quickly as he’d started—he pulls back, looking as breathless as Link feels.

 _“Didn’t mean to interrupt,”_ he gravels out, human pupils blown and shuttered. His hands slip into his pockets innocently, restrained and level, belying the look in his eyes. _“You were saying?”_

Link hesitates, throat thick. Knees trembling and hands shaking. When his lips part and let out an imploring _“Again,”_ Rhett crashes into him and presses him hard into the bark at his back. 

Rhett’s tongue explores Link’s mouth this time, dipping into him with the pleaded permission and sending tremors of excitement up and down his mortal’s spine. Rhett’s touching him, but not like before; he’s all-consuming, hands fettering up under the front of his shirt to graze his stomach and ribs, knee snaking between Link’s to keep him pinned, needlessly—more running is the last thing on Link’s mind.

When Link wraps his arms over Rhett’s shoulders—locking him in place, in turn—his tether’s chest rumbles and he breaks the kiss to find Link’s neck. The worrisome memory of the bite barely has time to flit through the space between them before Rhett’s lost in his work, gentle tongue and insistent lips nursing Link’s tender skin—no fangs. Link melts instantly into a shivering moan. 

He can feel the smile at his skin, the gentle huff of air that comes with it. _“Feel good?”_

“Yeah,” Link nods, face burning. “Should’ve figured usin’ your powers would get you all hot and bothered.”

 _“Sure._ That’s _what this is.”_

The words in his ear only add to the fire in his core, intrepid as the fingers that toy under the waist of his jeans. The air is squeezed out of Link again and he casts his gaze to the moonlit canopies above them. As much as he doesn’t want to stop the affection poring over his throat, Link _has_ to know. 

“What d’you mean?” he implores into the crook of his demon’s neck, hoping the question comes out clear enough to understand.

Rhett pauses. The kisses fade, and as he eases himself to press his body flush with Link’s, the strain at the front of his pants—shit, _both_ of their pants—becomes glaringly obvious. Link bites back a shiver, and along with it, the desire to grind up into Rhett. 

Shameful, how much he wants from him.

Sliding his grips up and behind Link, Rhett pulls him into a tight hug that shields his back from the bite of the bark, instead letting their weight rest on his forearms. All Link can do is tighten his own embrace around Rhett’s shoulders and wait patiently. Hope that he hasn’t ruined the moment.

 _“You’re an unusual one.”_ Rhett speaks slowly, his voice void of all bite and sarcasm. It quivers yet, with something Link identifies all too easily in himself at that moment. _“Demons… we aren’t supposed to be_ companions _to our tethers. We’re parasites.”_

Link dams up a scoff, ‘cause _says who?_ “That’s horrible.”

_“It’s true.”_

“No, it’s not.” 

_“It’s what we believe.”_

“Well that’s bullshit. You’re not some sort of pest, Rhett. You’re my partner. I… I care about you.”

 _“That right there,”_ Rhett keens, letting a hand fall to palm Link’s arousal through denim and eliciting another sharp moan from him, _“is exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Stop being so fuckin’ kind to me. You’re a joke of a master, you know that?”_

“S-Sorry?” Link gasps. Distantly, he knows Rhett’s unbuttoning his jeans, rushing to free Link into the night air, but his brain’s treading water so hard that he’s not sure he’s not dreaming. 

 _“Stop apologizin’. Don’t_ ever _want you to apologize to me, or to thank me. If only you knew how unnecessary it is.”_ Like that, Link’s cock is out in the space between them, and Rhett’s nibbling his earlobe as he teases—touching his abs, the v of his hips peeking out from his shirt, running his hand up his still-clothed inner thigh to wreck Link with shivers well before he adds, _“I would do anything for you. Contract or none.”_

Link bites his bottom lip and the pain reassures him—he’s not dreaming. Wants more than anything to be able to return those words, regardless of the nature of Rhett’s power over him and other mortals. _God,_ he wants to be able to say that back to Rhett. 

Protector. Best friend. Tether. 

Rhett can kill. Can curse people, and wreak havoc. Can level a city in a day with an illness, should Link wish it. Link won’t ever wish it. And Rhett—nature or no—would never do anything Link wouldn’t want him to do. It clicks into place as simple and true as that, and Link bucks up to brush against Rhett’s palm in abandon. “I would do anything for you, too, Vaz’gorhett.”

 _“If you want me as much as I want you, show me,”_ Rhett begs, pulling back to make searing eye contact, and Link doesn’t need to be asked again. When he kick-starts another kiss, _he’s_ the one in control. 

Rhett tastes like cinnamon and smoke—like the tingle of static and the blistering heat of midday sun. The appreciative groan he lets out at the force of their meeting is the exact sound Link had never known he needs to hear. Rhett’s teeth are—

“Bring your fangs back,” Link demands into his mouth, and Rhett’s confidence hiccups.

_“Don’t wanna hurt you.”_

“You’re not you without ‘em. Do it.”

And they’re there, sharp and hazardous, each near-draw of blood sending shivers up Link’s entirety. It’s confirmation that he’s kissing _Rhett_. Hands through his hair, thumbs resting at the base of his horns, the breaths eking out of Link turn ragged the instant Rhett’s stroking his cock, wetting him with the bead at the tip. 

It’s not like anything Link’s experienced before.

Deep, and visceral, and _need._ Rhett burns to be wanted in the same way Link had been burying. Ridiculously attractive—those hips and the chisel of his nose, his cocky smile and expressive eyebrows. His height. God _dammit,_ he’s taller and far more enticing than he has any right to be with that beard and those fangs, and Link is suddenly allowed to touch every inch of him. 

Rhett _wants_ it. Not because it will fulfill some demonic base need, but because _he_ wants it.

“Stop,” Link commands into the kiss, batting Rhett’s hand off of him in a self-punishing show of will. The demon freezes, the lump in his throat visible on his face at the interruption, but it slides into wide-eyed anticipation when Link’s suddenly working at _his_ jeans, maintaining eye contact despite the humiliation of being so brazen. “You gonna be good for me?”

 _“Shit, pumpkin.”_ Rhett sways in place as he’s unzipped, hands railing up Link’s biceps. _“Absolutely.”_

“Always are,” Link whispers, and sinks to his knees on the forest floor.

Digging past the soft folds of his boxers, Link retrieves Rhett without delay and takes a candid moment to familiarize himself with his demon’s cock. Human, and by all accounts… normal. Had that been a decision on Rhett’s part? Thick and long, aching pink and twitching sweetly at the anticipation of what’s to come—which, by the stolen glance up at his face, Rhett isn’t even sure himself that this is really about to happen.

 _“Link,”_ he mouths, looking every bit like he wants to wring his hands at his chest anxiously, but instead leaving them to flex at his hips. _“You really shouldn’t.”_

That gives Link pause. “Why? M’I gonna burst into flames? S’your cum made of lava or something?”

 _“No.”_ Rhett grimaces at the joke. _“Just…_ I’m _the one s’posed to serve_ you.”

With a slow, deliberating pull on his cock, Link sustains their heated gaze, and Rhett’s hand shoots out to the tree for balance while a shaky breath escapes him. 

“Well, why don’t you think about that while I suck you off?” Link suggests, and doesn’t give Rhett time for another word before swathing his tongue down the length of his member, letting his eyes close at the oddly satisfying tang of Rhett’s skin. The sharp hiss above him says enough. 

The first time Link takes him past his lips and wets what he can of Rhett, the entity above him swears. 

_“Fuck, bo.”_

It’s a delicious expletive—wrapped in a brand of bliss new to Link’s ears, disbelieving and humbled, and it coils into his ears and gut, right at home. It soaks Link in that all-too-recognizable burn to be close with his demon. It’s _good._ He can’t help but find his way back to his own cock, fucking his fist as he works over Rhett, eyebrows taught with desire.

 _“You that desperate for it? Lord below,”_ Rhett breaths, hips pulsing forward ever so gently, wanting to partake more. When he lets out a tempered moan, Link’s pace on himself spikes.

Eager for more sounds of the same ilk, Link loses himself in Rhett’s pleasure. Luxuriates in it. 

He’s never done this before (which is probably something he’ll have to unwrap later, that his first blow job’d been given to a demon), but he’s seen enough porn to feign certainty. One hand finds Rhett’s base and strokes in time with each bob of his head, grip there, but not too tight. He stutters on occasion, lavishing affection on the head with a slippery tongue, noting the taste of Rhett leaking: cinnamon and clove—numbing, to an extent, but wildly pleasant. His cheeks hollow with eagerness, and occasionally he glances up to check on Rhett. 

The demon looks like he’s dying on his feet, one eye forced open to watch. His voice is wrecked when he tugs up his shirt to show his happy trail and mumbles, _“You ready?”_

Abandoning himself, Link wrestles his other hand into Rhett’s pants and cups his tight balls, massaging them wet with the slick of his own need and nodding. 

“Is it okay if I swallow?” he asks, throat husky from use, and Rhett’s hand finds the top of Link’s head, already on the edge as he strains to answer:

_“If—fuck, if you want!”_

Link catches Rhett in his mouth just in time to work him through his release, arm pumping. Rhett spills onto his tongue with a loud, deep groan, the fingers in Link’s hair careful and pulling, quickly turning into apologetic rubs as he rides out the waves in Link’s wet warmth. He tastes like licorice and what Link would only later in his life be able to identify as the burn of whiskey.

Too soon, it’s over. 

Link is left punishingly hard on his knees, planting a kiss on Rhett’s spent cock before pulling his hands free. He wobbles a bit at the effort of collecting himself, but it’s okay. He doesn’t _need_ to come. It would be nice, but he’s effectively exhausted, and doesn’t see it happening.

Rhett lowers himself before Link, slowly, hands traveling down his human’s body until he’s kneeling as well and gathering Link into a fiery embrace that shivers and shakes. “Jesus Christ, Link. For fuck’s sake.”

“You swear a lot when you get off,” Link mumbles with a gentle laugh. He lets his head fall limp on Rhett’s shoulder, overwhelmed with the vacuum of energy now that adrenaline is finally seeping out of his bloodstream. 

“Can you blame me?” Rhett growls, and Link smiles into his neck. “Let me take care of you now. Please.”

“Rhett. That sounds nice, but—”

“No buts,” Rhett insists, pressing a lingering kiss into the crook of Link’s neck as his hand finds Link’s erection. Just as quickly, he pauses. “Unless you honestly don’t want it.”

One amused huff. Two. 

“Can we at least lay down, first? I’m pretty sore,” Link beseeches quietly, and he doesn’t have to lift a finger as Rhett bundles him and spreads him out on the forest floor tenderly, moving his shirt out of the way. The chilly damp of the earth soaks up into his back, but Link honestly couldn’t care less as Rhett leans over him and searches his face.

“What do you want me to do? Anything. Name it.”

Link blushes, reacquainting with the idea of being doted on. He waffles for a moment, jumping between possibilities in his mind, and when he opens his mouth and hesitates, Rhett waits patiently for an answer instead of prodding.

There is _one_ thing he can’t seem to get out of his mind, now that he’s felt it.

“Can we… maybe make out, while you jack me off?” he asks in a shameful whisper. The beat of silence while Rhett registers the request is scary, but the demon breaks into a grin and slips an arm under Link’s neck, the opposite hand finding his cock and teasing it with brushes of his fingers.

“Why’re you so goddamn cute?” Rhett asks, dipping to meet their lips once again in the peaceful woods.


	15. Listen, For Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ctrl + click to open songs in new tabs.

_The family stated that they believe the fire must have been “the work of an angel”, someone looking out for the safety of the community. “Without those flames, our own child might not have felt safe enough to say something. We are devastated, but now we know. Now everyone knows.”_

_Their allegation would only be the first: one claim brought four more, all listing similar accusations against Puglish._

_During investigations, a Schedule 1 substance was located in Puglish’s vehicle. With no evidence of breaking and entering, Puglish was detained and is currently facing charges of possession, though with further statements coming to light, it’s doubtful he will be released anytime soon._

_Any potential information regarding the arsonist should be directed to the RPD’s non-emergency tip line._

‘The work of an angel.’ Best not to tell Rhett that part, probably.

Link closes out of the news site and buries his smile into his arms on the laptop’s keyboard. It had worked. Absolutely seamlessly. The goal had never been to feel good about himself (although he would be lying if he claimed to feel _entirely_ altruistic), but rather to offer a banner for victims to rally under. Just a crack in the veneer that could be shattered if pushed, and god, had it shattered. 

He has to tell Rhett the good news.

The cool autumn breeze whisks through his open window and refreshes his lungs. The sound of papers rustling reminds him that the last playlist had ended, so Link navigates to another and turns it on. Bluetooth speaker against the wall connected, he pumps the volume to a near-unacceptable level as a percussive roll kicks off the [tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOOhPfMbuIQ). 

 _“When I'm furthest from myself…_  
_Feeling closer to the stars..._  
_I've been invaded by the dark..._  
_Trying to recognize myself when I feel I've been replaced.”_

Gosh, he loves this song. Good upbeat vibe appropriate for celebrating. And speaking of celebrating, where’d he put the… ahem, _treats,_ Jake had slipped into their bag? He’s pretty sure it’s tucked between some old books on his shelf, but which ones? He hops off the bed right as his door twitches with gentle knocks he almost can’t hear over the music. 

Mom. Thank gracious she’d come up _before_ he’d retrieved the joints. 

“Yeah?” Link asks, quickly settling back onto his bed.

The door cracks open hesitantly and Link’s mother’s heart-shaped face peers in at him.

“Pumpkin?”

Ugh. That now-shared nickname is a can of Freudian worms Link doesn’t wanna open. 

“What’s up?” Link speaks loudly over the music and watches her expectantly.

“Can you—would you mind turning that down for a second?” she implores, and with a small sigh Link pauses the song altogether.

“D’you need somethin’?” he asks when she simply looks around his room in the ensuing quiet. Why are parents so weird sometimes? It’s like she suddenly knows by sixth sense he’s got pot hidden somewhere and is trying to bloodhound it out.

“What are you doing?” She rests her temple against the frame and dares to open the door a bit further. She’s in her pajamas. Link would feel guilty, except Mom and Dad’s room is downstairs. The music is loud, but it isn’t _that_ loud.

“Just finished my homework. Relaxin’.” He glances at the bookshelf. “Might read in a bit. Why?”

“Just curious. We’re headed to bed.” When she pauses, Link shrugs and nods. “There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge if your appetite comes back.”

Oh yeah. He’d said he hadn’t been hungry for dinner. That’s sweet of her. “Cool. Thanks.”

“Of course. I love you, pumpkin.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘pumpkin’ anymore, Mom,” Link chuckles before he can stop himself. Not that he would have, had he been able to scan the words first, but… yeah, Mom’s face falls slightly, and she hadn’t even been smiling to begin with. His approach hadn’t been tactful.

“I’ve _always_ called you ‘pumpkin.’”

“I know! Just… I’m in college, mama.” He shrugs again and there’s a small glimmer in her eye at the variation he hadn’t used since childhood. Link chases it. “Maybe now that I’m older you can call me somethin’ new. Like... gourdy. On account of my big college brain.”

Mom smiles sweetly and toes the beginning of carpet in the threshold. “That’s silly. I can do better than that. Lemme think about it.”

“Alright. Love you, Mom. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

The second the door is shut, Link re-starts the interrupted feel-good track and hops off his bed to find the little plastic bag wedged somewhere between thick coffee table books. _Dogs from Around the World?_ No. _Capturing London: A City in Portraits?_ No. Ah! There it is, mashed between _The Spice Dictionary_ and _American Folk Legends._ The cigarettes are a little worse for wear, but that shouldn’t affect how they smoke. Right?

Music bumping, Link grabs the baggie and rushes to the open window. It’s set into the part of his wall that angles towards the ceiling in a slant. Ducking under the open glass, Link hoists himself out up to his elbows and locates Rhett sitting a few feet off to his left, hands splayed behind him on the shingles of the roof and breaking his quietude to acknowledge Link. 

“Need help?” his demon asks, and Link considers it. He’s only done this twice before, but it’s not like he’s weak. 

“I think I’ve got it. Here.” He throws the bag at Rhett, who catches it.

“We smokin’?” Rhett turns the plastic over in his hands and inspects the three joints inside. “Man, you really turned into a stoner overnight, huh?”

 _“No,”_ insists Link in a grunt. With some shimmying and a show of upper body strength, he lifts himself onto the roof and lands hard on his butt. “S’only like… the _third_ time I’ve smoked.”

“In the span of a few days.”

“It feels better than I thought it would.”

“Funny that you get so defensive.” Rhett hums and throws a thumb at the well-audible music drifting from the bedroom. “You like this song?”

 _“I can feel it kick down in my soul_  
_and it's pulling me back to earth to let me know_  
_I am not a slave, can't be contained!_  
_So pick me from the dark and pull me from the grave!”_

“Wouldn’t have turned it on, if I didn’t.” Awkward crab-scooting delivers Link to Rhett’s side, where he wastes no time sprawling out and staring up at the night sky. It’s crystal clear, but light pollution blots out some of the weaker stars. Still pretty. Good enough for stargazing. “You like it?”

“I guess.” Rhett drops the contraband on Link’s stomach. “Still kinda bubbly for my taste.”

“I’ll show you how to make a playlist sometime, then. We can listen to the terrifying shit _you_ deem as good music.” Suddenly dissatisfied with his position, he twists onto his side to prop his head on a hand and beam up at Rhett. “Guess what?”

Rhett blinks, face somewhere around bemused amusement as he scans his human. “You’re a mama’s boy?”

“Heard that, did ya?” Huffing, Link grins and retrieves one of the smokes from the bag with a _pop_. “No, dummy, our plan worked! Puglish is locked up, and probably will be for a long time. He’s done for.”

“Damn straight he’s locked up,” Rhett flashes his fangs in triumph and a tickle of pride rushes through Link. It keeps hitting him in waves—that not only had they helped, but that Rhett had gotten fulfillment from helping. 

He’d made Rhett feel good. The icing on the cake.

“Right? _We_ made that happen! Can you imagine—I mean, I know I said I wasn’t gonna go seeking out criminals, but I didn’t realize how fuckin’ _good_ it would feel to take down a guy like that! Maybe we should just—light this, Rhett.” 

Link interrupts himself with the command long enough for Rhett to snap and produce a steady flame from his thumb, holding it under the tip of the joint until it catches. 

“Maybe we should just like—I dunno, go out and have you scan people at the grocery store? See who should be in prison? We could start fires on people’s lawns. That can be our calling card!”

“If that’s what you want.” Rhett’s attention trains on Link as the brunet gets their session started. Once his hit is done, he passes it off to Rhett and gushes a plume into the crisp night. 

Hmm. It does sound pretty dope, being proxies of justice with supernatural powers. Link squares his shoulders and sits up. “What do _you_ want, Rhett? This is a partnership. Don’t wanna be doin’ stuff you’re not into.”

Rhett retains his lungful for an amount of time that puts Link to shame before exhaling, nary a trace of cough following the show. “Been meanin’ to talk to you ‘bout that.”

Link squints, accepting the cigarette and hesitating. It doesn’t take long for his snowballing nerves to coalesce into a joke. “You’re dumping me, aren’t you?”

“Shut up and listen,” Rhett says with an eye roll and a scratch of his whiskered chin. “Been meanin’ to thank you.”

The song [changes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE87rQkXdNw) and leaves Link’s belabored snort to hang in the space between. 

 _“Lately I’ve been, I’ve been thinking…_  
_I want you to be happier._  
_I want you to be happier.”_

Good song. Good playlist. 

“Thank me?”

“You’ve been commanding me more lately. A _lot_ more.” Rhett drops his head back, face tilting to the sky. “No ‘please’s. Fewer ‘thank you’s. Which means you’re on the right track of treating this contract the way it was _meant_ to be treated. And no—the irony of me thanking you for that isn’t lost on me. But I figured I should do it, since it does make things a helluva lot easier on my part.”

Okay, so Link is high, yeah, but that’s kinda weird, right...? Weird thing to say?

“Easier?” he prompts, brow furrowed.

Rhett glances at Link in a sidelong sweep of his eyes, hair messed and face drawn. “Less painful this way.”

Link forgets to breathe. An incredibly unpleasant thing to do when stoned, and he forces it to start again with a reaching gasp. _“What?”_

The smirk Rhett passes to him is lined in something knowing and tamed, but he quickly redirects it to the stars so Link doesn’t have to carry it. “Pleasantries are painful.”

“Wait,” Link wonders, neglecting the burning cherry sneaking up on his fingers. “Let me get this straight: you’re saying that anything I ask of you—if it’s not an _explicit command,_ it causes you _physical pain?”_

“Yep. Surprise, surprise—demons feel pain. Been told it’s a bit more… _intense,_ than the pain humans feel, thanks to our ‘transgressions,’” Rhett air-quotes with one hand, “but it’s a thing.”

Stupefied, Link is too stoned for this information. He shoves the joint into Rhett’s care. “What—I mean, seriously?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That should’ve been in the information you dumped on me the day you showed up! I’ve been hurting you the entire time you’ve been here and I didn’t know?!”

Rhett leisures in admiring the cigarette. “You’re doin’ it less these days. I dunno. Didn’t realize at the time that you were the kinda master who’d care about that sorta shit. None of the ones I’ve had before would’ve.” 

Stomach knotting, Link crosses his legs and examines Rhett—but that only earns an exasperated exhale when their gazes snap together. 

“I’m _fine._ Fuck’s sake, I’m a demon, Link. Pain ain’t exactly something you get by without when you’ve been cast down.”

There are instantly questions Link wants to ask that hadn’t existed moments ago. 

How had he never thought to inquire about Rhett’s past? Where he’d come from, what his ‘life’ had been like thus far? Rhett is his—shit, okay, _yes,_ he’s his tether, but he’s also more than that. Rhett’s his best friend. And more than _that,_ he’s the biggest constant in Link’s life right now. A true companion, in the sincerest meaning of the word. 

Jesus. When had that become so undeniable? And how had it gotten to this point without Link taking the time to _really_ ask about Rhett?

Fear, is how. 

Fear of fraternizing with a demon.

The thought curdles Link’s gut with shame, knowing the things he does now. And he still hasn’t asked anything.

“What does it feel like?” Link asks, and Rhett cocks an eyebrow.

“The pain from requests?”

“Yeah.”

Rhett hits the joint hard, shoulders swelling as he seems to consider the answer. He speaks through the smoke he lets out. “S’like a… stake in the chest, I guess? You kinda just bear it.”

 _“Holy fuck,_ no!” Link exclaims, and Rhett shrugs so noncommittally that Link wants to punch him in the arm for not caring more. _“Every single time?”_

“Yeah. S’really not a big deal. Used to tethers inflictin’ pain on me.”

If that’s supposed to make Link’s heart lighter, it fails spectacularly. 

So messed up. Yet Rhett says it so casually. Shit, is Link’s name going to find its way onto that roster when their contract is complete? Just another notch to be remembered as someone who’d looked him over and used him without giving a damn? Link is just the next job to Rhett, after all, isn’t he...? He’s never given him reason to think he cares about him as an entity; people who care ask questions.

Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Maybe Link can be a shift Rhett _enjoys,_ so he can look back on a tether fondly for once. Before he has to move on to someone in the future when Link’s not even alive even more and—wow, he can’t think about that right now. One thing at a time, brain.

“Rhett?”

“Hmm?” His demon’s eyes are free of turmoil when they find him yet again, perfectly unaffected.

 _“Even though I might not like this,_  
_I think that you’ll be happier._  
_I want you to be happier.”_

“Did that hurt, too?” Link’s pointer finger lifts to Rhett’s snapped horn. 

He doesn’t miss the way Rhett’s pupils flash rectangular in the dim light. But just as swift, they’re normal again, and he hunches forward. His smile is thin. It doesn’t make his cheeks bunch in the way they usually do when he’s amused, and Link knows it’s a grin meant to placate a human mind. A lean-to shelter. 

“Hurt like hell… no pun intended.”

Link swallows, his scratchy throat roughed up from weed. “Can I ask…?”

Rhett waits, boring a hole into Link with his patient stare.

“How did it happen?”

“‘Course you can ask.” Rhett resets to every bit nonplussed. Gives his nose a lazy scritch with a hooked finger. “Ain’t that interestin’, though. Not like I got in a fight with another demon and we tussled around Hell.” He presents the joint to Link’s rejection before burning it down to a roach, fingers unbothered by the burn of holding it. “Fractures happen when demons disobey.”

Uhh.

“Like… disobey… Satan?” Link asks haltingly, scared he’s even got the name of the ‘Lord below’ Rhett’s constantly referencing incorrect. But his apprehension pulls a rolling chuckle from Rhett, which Link echoes in a hollow one.

“No, our _tethers._ ”

Link can tell he’s being intense right now, but he can’t help it: leaning forward, eyes wide (...maybe not as wide as he thinks they are), hands clenched on his thighs. Fascinated. He should’ve asked about the horn a long time ago. 

“Why would a demon—I can’t imagine—it must’ve been something pretty horrific if you didn’t want to do it. Right? I mean, I know that makes me sound like an asshole, but—”

“Nah. You’re right.” Rhett sends the admission off into the darkness with a farewell nod. “The guy was probably… four contracts ago? Five? All this shit runs together sometimes. Anyway, he wanted ‘help’ with a woman he was interested in, and his means were… well. The less I say, the better, but I disobeyed. Said ‘no’.”

It’s unfortunate that Link isn’t surprised to hear about a tether like that. 

Apparently, Rhett draws the line at issues questioning sexual consent, but—hell, _that_ doesn’t come as a surprise either. Their time in bed after being walked home and in the forest the other day—both times, Rhett had asked for clear signs that Link really wanted it. 

The burn that washes over Link’s cheeks and under his ears at the memory is ill-fitted for their conversation, which he fails to continue. Rhett’s watching him silently. Waiting.

“Good for you,” Link finally supplies. 

Rhett barks a grating laugh and leans over to bump their shoulders together. “Glad _you_ think so. It’s not good, down below, when a demon returns with one horn.” Without making a show of it, Rhett pops the roach into his mouth and chews it up like it’s a piece of candy. That _can’t_ taste good. “Horns are important. They’re status symbols. I essentially demoted myself.”

“For a noble cause, sounds like.”

“Mm.”

“Seriously, Rhett. That’s amazing. I’m… I’m proud of you? You’re my tether now, right?” Link sways, and Rhett’s hand is on his bicep instantly. Where once that would have been enough to dizzy him further, Link barely acknowledges it; he’s too busy having his tongue piloted by THC. “Since we’re companions now, that means that I should be allowed to tell you what a good heart you have. I know you’re a demon, but… shit, Rhett, you’re so—”

 _“Will you hush?”_ Rhett growls. He twists to face Link, face red and now-freed tail brushing the flecks of debris off the side of the house excitedly. Link’s not even touching him and his eyes are hazed in the same way, timbre trawled into its usual drawl under Link’s approval. _“You’re so fuckin’ embarrassing sometimes, I swear.”_

Link smiles. In lieu of gushing praise, the urge to hug Rhett constricts his foggy brain. His balance is off, though. And they’re on a roof. Probably not a good idea to move around too much when he’s stoned up here. 

Besides. They hadn’t discussed the looming question (looming in Link’s mind, anyway) of whether acting like horny music festival attendees in the woods had perhaps changed something between them. 

Not that it needs to change. This is good—the occasional fucks and teasing. 

Rhett seems happy, anyway. Every day is an opportunity for Link to learn how to treat him better.

“If I’m embarrassing, then it’s really too bad you’re stuck with me,” Link coos back in his face, challenging, and Rhett practically bristles.

_“You’re such a doofus.”_

“At least I don’t eat weed. You weirdo.”

_“Should I have flicked it into the grass? Risked startin’ a fire?”_

“No, but you could have saved it for me to flush. Or at least _act_ like it’s gross when you eat it.” Link giggles. It’s the natural resolution of gravity when his temple finds Rhett’s shoulder and presses his weight there. Warmth, in the brisk breeze. _Personal heater_. “Remind me to take you out to try human food some time. You’ve never had it, right?”

A hot puff of air hits Link’s hair. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve described Rhett as _buzzing:_ he’s like a livewire. Purring and shivering. Maybe the contact is a little much for the guy when he’s stoned. 

_“Never. But I don’t need to eat. It would be a waste.”_

“S’not a waste if it’s spent on givin’ you a new experience, Billy.”

_Oh!_

That’s a nickname he has for Rhett! Gosh, he’d been so far gone the first time he’d used it, no wonder he hadn’t remembered it sooner.

 _“I hate when you’re like this,”_ Rhett rumbles. 

He’s lying. Link nuzzles into the crook of his neck, into the impossible heat radiating from him. “No, you don’t.”

_“Ridiculous. Such a loser.”_

“You used to call me ‘bozo.’ What happened with that?”

_“I shortened it to ‘bo.’ Remember?”_

“Yeah, but it’s still an insult, right?”

Rhett doesn’t respond.

The playlist hits a hiccup—probably buffering issues or one of those annoying ‘you still there?’ messages. The silence that supplements isn’t as ripe as Link had assumed it might be: the city hums with distant cars and sirens farther still, none of their concern. It’s calming. A little hard to adjust to, but grounding, in a way.

Fine. Maybe Link is embarrassing. And ridiculous. And a loser. 

But Rhett’s resting his head on top of Link’s, and no flustered insults can deflect that.

“I’m sleepy,” the man mumbles, and his demon taps his far shoulder.

_“Let’s go inside.”_

Iron-grip hands direct Link, careful not to let him stray or misstep. Once back in the bedroom and stripped down to his boxers, Link watches in idle interest as Rhett shuts the window. That had been… a nice smoke session. Kinda mind fuck-y, but—

“Oh—the baggie!”

“I’ve got it,” Rhett states, turning and presenting it. “Go to bed, bo. You said you were tired.”

Right. 

Link clears off the bed with as much care as a college student typically harbors and slides in, eyes widening only when he notes how efficiently the nippy air outside had gushed in and chilled _everything_ in the room. It’s fucking freezing. Unfortunately he’ll just have to tough it out, since the heat’s still likely turned off this time of year. But as Rhett gives him a nod and heads for his hammock, Link throws the covers down and bites back his fear, remembering the valuable information he’d just learned.

“Rhett, come cuddle with me.”

 _“What?!”_ Rhett swivels and starts for the bed without missing a beat, glaring and looking every bit as scandalized as he had in the woods, when… ha. “Fuck, seriously?! _This_ is the kinda stuff you’re gonna command me to do?” He’s already falling into place beside Link, like his body’s acting of its own accord. But he’d also just earlier admitted that that isn’t how things work with demons. 

They _can_ disobey. It just costs them.

Shit.

“Do you not want to?” Link ventures, ready to undo it. Guilt for assuming it would’ve been okay lumps in his throat.

“Ugh. It’s fine,” Rhett groans, arms encircling Link protectively, his cotton tee’d chest pressing into Link’s ribs. He’s lower down than Link would like, grumbling into Link’s bare shoulder. “Just not the typical shit you _do_ with a demon. ‘Cuddle with me.’ God dammit.” His words are pricklier than his actions: his leg hikes up to rest on Link’s thighs, his lids lower, and that vibration starts again as pleasurable toastiness spreads through the bed. 

_Personal heater._

“Is this okay?” Link tries again, and Rhett answers in a curt nod before adding, 

_“How long do I have to stay like this?”_

“Why don’t you just go to sleep? My bed’s comfy. You’ll rest way better than you do in that dumb hammock.”

_“I never sleep.”_

Link cranes his neck to look down at Rhett. “What?”

_“Tried. Don’t think I can.”_

“That’s silly. C’mon, I bet you can. You’re just not… focusing on your comfort.” Link waffles before pulling his arm from between their flush bodies and draping it behind Rhett’s back. Rhett’s essentially staring into his armpit now, and Link laughs. “Scoot up, Rhett.”

Rhett does, pressing the top of his head into Link’s underarm and poking him with his horn. 

 _“No!_ Like, lift your head and rest it here, Rhett,” Link indicates the soft pad where his chest meets his shoulder with a pat. Rhett moves more, and this time when his head comes down, there’s a visible difference. His eyes soften, and each of the limbs on Link grows heavier as he lets out a long exhale.

_“Oh.”_

“There. Feel better?”

_“I… think so.”_

“Good. Just relax.” 

After pulling the blanket over them, Link’s arm stretches down to caress Rhett’s shoulder blades through his shirt. How is so he _warm?_ Why does hellfire evidently feel so good? Bizarre. Without stopping to think about what it might entail, Link finds the collar of Rhett’s shirt and sticks his arm down to trail his back. Barely-there touches graze Rhett’s sculpted muscles and ribs, and Link steels himself. 

This… well. It’s intimate. There’s no deflection from _that,_ either.

But Rhett’s eyes flutter shut, and the next sigh he releases melts him down into the mattress.

“Still okay?

_“Yes.”_

“It’s okay if you don’t fall asleep. And… if you don’t want to...” Link speaks slowly, navigating the traps of language as best he can— _stake in the chest—_ “Rhett, if you can’t eventually fall asleep, get up and do as you like.”

Rhett tenses, eyes bolting back open. Wrong thing to say? Link moves fast, his free hand rushing to stroke the demon’s cheek because _fuck,_ if he causes him pain, then maybe at least the affection is decent aftercare? But Rhett twists and burrows into Link’s skin, burning and burning.

“Painful?”

 _“No. Oh, fuck. Link.”_ A pause. _“You—did you seriously just invent a loophole for me?”_

“Depends,” Link smirks, already bursting with self-satisfaction. “Did it work?”

 _“Dammit,”_ is all Rhett wheezes in response, muted into mortal flesh. That’s answer enough. 

If only Link had learned sooner how to be a good master.

“Better late than never,” he mumbles to the still room, holding Rhett close and feeling his tension eke away once more. Minutes slip by where he believes Rhett’s actually fallen asleep, but then a single word comes. In all fairness, he _sounds_ tired.

_“Link.”_

“Hmm?”

_“Do you want me to stop callin’ you ‘pumpkin’, too?”_

“No.” Link re-homes his free hand to Rhett’s hair, careful not to touch his horns. “That’s yours.”


	16. Some Human 'Firsts'

“No, _lower_ than that. More. C’mon, Rhett—if we’re gonna do this in public, you at least have to not be a pain in the dick about it.”

Link pins his cellphone in place between his shoulder and ear. He’s crammed into a red leather booth that’s way too tight for them to be seated shoulder-to-shoulder as they are, but Rhett’s got his legs propped up in the opposing bench and he’s pretty well obscured from the view of other patrons. He toes Link’s backpack in aggravation. “Is _this_ good enough, your highness?”

Link glances down briefly, trying not to smile at the way Rhett’s glaring up at him from the hidey-hole he’s crammed himself into. When he speaks, it’s into his phone again. “Yeah. That’s good. Can you still see the front door, though?”

Rhett snorts, leaning forward to peer up at the entrance of the establishment. 

The diner isn’t Link’s favorite place to grab a bite, but it’s cheap and the obnoxious decor from the ‘50s never fails to put him in a good mood: the over-inflated booths that squawk when one takes their seat, the black-and-white checkered floor, the ceiling fans and neon lights whirring in the windows. Several customers are eating at the long bar, noses buried in newspapers and smartphones. It’s probably hard to get caught with inexplicably vanishing food when no one’s paying them any mind, anyway.

“Yeah, I can see it. It’s got a bell on it, right? Anyone comes in, we’ll hear it.”

“Good point,” nods Link. In a whisper, he adds, “And you’re sure no one in here right now needs a postcard from Hell burned to their garden?”

“Calm down, Jack the Ripper.” Rhett purses his lips and consults his hellphone in his lap. He looks every bit the _I don’t want to be here_ teenager in his lapeled leather jacket, ripped jeans, and half-styled curls. “Unless you count the guy in red’s time he stole back his dog from his ex-wife, then no.”

“Yikes. No, that doesn’t count.”

“Figured.”

“Order up!” 

The perky waiter from the bar approaches with a tray of food and unloads it onto their table, and Link ‘muffles’ his phone in the meat of his palm to thank the guy. The freshly-delivered array consists of a fully-dressed burger, a messy pile of seasoned fries, a milkshake, and sweet tea. It’s more food than Link can eat alone. Thankfully, that’s the point. 

“This looks great. What do you wanna try first, Rhett?” he asks, remembering too late to say the words into his cell. Whoops.

“Up to you. I don’t care.”

“C’mon, this is supposed to be fun!” Link nudges Rhett with the elbow between them. “Us scannin’ for criminals before headin’ back to campus for the first time? Grabbin’ a bite—you experiencing food for the first time in your life? What about this isn’t fun for you?” When Link eggs on his demon with a grin, he catches the tail-end of Rhett’s smirk. 

 _“Fine._ What’s that?” he asks, pointing at the burger.

“Called a hamburger. I got it ‘cause I kinda assumed you might enjoy meat.” Sparing a cursory glance around to ensure no one’s watching, Link picks it up and passes it down to Rhett where it’s concealed. His tether sniffs it and makes a face that reminds Link of the videos online of dogs licking lemons. 

“How do I eat it?”

“Uhh.” That’s not something Link ever thought he’d have to explain. “Just… hold it like—yeah. Now bite. Make sure you get a little of everything.” It doesn’t take much chewing before Rhett’s pulling his lips down in a frown, cheeks puffed out. It would be funny if Link didn’t feel bad. “No?”

Rhett furrows his brow in disgust. “I don’t think so, no.”

Seriously? A vegetarian demon?

“That’s fine. Meat’s not for everyone. I just thought… huh. Shouldn’t have assumed.” Link takes the burger back from Rhett with his free hand and plops it on the plate. “How ‘bout some french fries?”

“What is a ‘fry’ and why is it French?” Rhett asks, craning to stare at the pile of golden-brown zigzags on the table. 

Christ. Beings from Hell aren’t _supposed_ to be cute, with the fangs and horns and… okay, the goat tail’s kinda cute. But the naiveté’s also pretty damn charming. “They’re potatoes sticks. They came from Belgium, but we call ‘em french fries.” Link selects one with not-as-much seasoning on it and passes it along. “Try it.”

This time the scent of it doesn’t seem to bother Rhett. He pops it in his mouth and works it over. The strain on his face slowly lifts and he points at the remaining basket. “Those ain’t bad,” he says after he’s finished.

“Yeah?” Link straightens in his seat. “How’s it taste?” 

“I dunno. Never tried describing taste before.” Rhett starts to mull it over right as the bell announces a portly brunette coming in, but with a swift check of his phone he shakes his head and returns to the matter at hand. “It’s got like… a bite to it? Hard to explain. But it’s good.”

“Wait a second.” Link finds the most-seasoned fry of the batch—one coated in a dusting of orange and black—and holds it to Rhett’s lips. “Eat this one, Rhett.” No choice but to follow the command, Rhett lets Link feed him with an irritated glare. The moment his tongue meets flavor, his eyes widen, and Link dams up a cackling laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yes. That’s even better. Somethin’s happening.”

For comparison, Link takes another seasoned fry and sends it down. Guh. It’s almost too spicy. The cook really went hard on this batch. 

Rhett likes flavorful stuff. Go figure.

“What about this?” Link asks, offering the sweet tea to him. 

Maybe it had been needless, forcing Rhett to duck down in the seat to stay out of ‘view;’ the other diners might as well have blinders on. A sip later, Rhett shrugs.

“Not bad. Weird, that it’s not alcoholic.”

“Jesus, dude. What do you like about it?”

“I dunno. I _do_ know that there’s a weird floral thing goin’ on with it. Don’t like that part.”

Sweets, then. 

“Here,” Link says decisively. He transfers the entire basket of fries to Rhett’s lap and pushes the milkshake to the edge of the table for easier access via straw. “Enjoy your first meal, buddy.”

“What’s this brown stuff?”

“Chocolate shake. You’ll like it.” One experimental taste is followed by bulging eyes and a deep, excited gulp, and Link smiles. “Told you.”

“I could drink a million o’ these!”

“I can’t afford that, Rhett! Just slow down and enjoy it while it lasts.” Chuckling, Link brings the burger and sweet tea to his own place setting and tucks in. Looks rude to be chomping away while ‘on the phone’ like this, but oh well. 

“Sweet and spicy,” Link muses through a cheekful of burger. He shakes his head. _Sounds about right._

“Damn. Maybe humans aren’t as useless as I thought they were.”

“Uncalled for.”

“You know what I mean.”

The bottle nestled into a metal bracket of condiments at the end of the table catches Link’s eye, and it retrieves it and gives it a shake. “Put this on your fries, Rhett,” he commands, pulling a scoff from his tether.

“What the fuck? I don’t even know what this shit is,” Rhett complains, but his tone’s void of bite. More than anything he sounds disheartened.

“Don’t you trust me?” Link smirks down at him. “I’ve got you.”

Rhett drizzles out just enough hot sauce to scarcely wet his fries. After partaking in the new concoction, he shoots a chagrined scowl at Link and upturns the bottle to drench them. He doesn’t break eye contact as Link snickers into his cupped hand, trying to be polite with a mouthful of food. 

“Not a _word._ ”

“I didn’t say anything!”

They eat in relative silence. Rhett hums and glimpses at his phone with every new hungry civilian that joins the ranks of the restaurant. Link keeps his own pressed to his cheek where it grows hot and sweaty despite being in sleep mode. 

Rhett has long-since finished his shake and is parceling through the last few fries by the time Link realizes that a moment like this—Rhett’s first meal—should probably be documented, and he wakes up his cell to the camera app.

“What’re you doing now?” Rhett squints. He’s almost certainly playing dumb. They’d taken a selfie together before, when they’d joined.

But when Link holds the phone up and smiles broadly, it’s just himself on-screen and the decidedly empty space beside him. He swallows hard—feeling silly and half-expecting Rhett to burst into laughter—and lowers the phone to the table to stare at it. 

“Nothin’, I guess.”

“Mm.” Rhett quietly sets the empty basket on the table and nudges him. “Hey—let’s head on down to campus. Bet there’s lots of li’l fuckers ‘round there who need flagging down. We can even hang around the frat house after class.”

“Sure.”

Link drains his tea, pockets his phone, and leaves a generous tip on the table before grabbing his backpack and leading Rhett outside.

They start the trek to campus together. The weather’s not the most inviting, but it could definitely be drearier. Overcast clouds hang sleepy and gray in the white-bright sky and a steady breeze tries to snake under Link’s hoodie, which he pulls tighter. Rhett doesn’t seem bothered by the chill. No surprise there; he’s always warm. Hell, he could probably stand in a foot of snow wearing a tank top and shorts and still have heat lines warbling the air about him.

Normally this would be the time to listen to music, or a podcast, but it would be cruel to do so when Rhett can’t listen, too, and Link’s not about to field questioning about one of his earbuds hovering beside him. Instead he quells the impending anxiety by trying to imagine snow melting around Rhett’s feet. Or Rhett’s skin smoking under a blistering summer sun and being totally unbothered by it. Or Rhett being able to warm up bathwater just by sitting in it for a while, beckoning for Link to join him and sit in front of him in the tub once—

“You lookin’ forward to class?” Rhett cuts in, and Link’s neck burns when he has to clear his throat to respond. 

“Not really. Been gone too long. I’m gonna be way behind and might face repercussions from professors, even if my absence was excused.”

Rhett doesn’t respond right away. It’s not until they’ve rounded a corner onto a path scattered with dead leaves that he draws a reaching breath. “You know you’ve got me with you now. Right?”

“I know.” Link frowns and fiddles with the hem of his hood, debating whether to pull it up and hide his face. “But… what d’you mean?”

“Just… if there’s any way I can help, lemme know.”

Link snorts and rolls his eyes. “You gonna help me do all my homework?”

“I’d be real bad at it and you’d prolly fail, but if you asked— _commanded_ me to, I would.”

“That’s dumb, Rhett.” Link watches his green sneakers traverse the concrete, white-tipped soles appearing and disappearing in rhythm. “I don’t think any of your powers are gonna be useful when it comes to school. No offense.”

“If you say so,” his tether shrugs. The gentle ever-present hush of his tail whipping the back of his jeans echoes the leaves skittering over the ground per the wind. 

That fuckin’ tail. The longer he knows Rhett, the more Link _really_ wants to touch it. But that would probably just piss Rhett off, and then he might shapeshift and _bam_. Gone forever. He could probably _command_ Rhett keep the thing, but… eh. That’d be weird. He’ll just keep admiring it from afar.

“Awfully quiet, since we left.” Rhett passes a speculative glance over at him, head bowed and cocked to the side. “S’weird. You never shut up.”

Link nods knowingly and heaves a sigh like that’ll expel cortisol. “‘M nervous. Sorry.”

Rhett’s gaze turns skyward as they walk, and a few paces later he extends a hand to the space between them. “C’mon, then.”

Link eyeballs it.

“Physical contact makes it better, right? Worked at the party when you were freakin’ out.”

 

* * *

 

The world opened up in stages as it usually did for Link. First, the bizarre oven-like heat of his room that always permeated his mornings, regardless of season. Second, the waterfall of light gushing in from his skylight and throwing a yellow-white haze over the space. And third, the weight by his side, foreign and heavy but not unpleasant. Roiling with heat, still and lazy.

Waking up—for Link—meant seeing Rhett experiencing sleep for the first time in his life. 

Right there, close, motionless and under the covers with him. Head in the same spot it had been in the night before, nose and lips pressed into the forgiving skin where Link’s shoulder and chest met. The demon’s breath came in slow and effortless and carried a pleasantly warm bouquet, a lullaby in its own right in the hazy morning light. At some point during the night—conscious decision or not—Rhett must have decided to lose his shirt. His bare, freckled chest and shoulders peek out from the comforter.  

What struck Link more than anything, though, was how perfectly at peace Rhett was when he slept.

The furrow of his brow, gone. The tightness around his eyes that stayed at a constant baseline, gone. All signs of impatience and pain, gone. The tips of his fangs were barely visible behind just-parted lips that were far rosier and plusher than Link remembered. At that proximity—for the first time—Link noticed a beauty mark above his upper lip, hidden beneath his facial hair. That was a choice, as was all of his appearance. How long had Rhett had that?

 _Beautiful,_ was the first word to cross Link’s mind that morning as he inspected his demon in his sleep. Which made sense. Demons were just fallen angels, weren’t they?

Link’s free hand closed the distance to his face, stopping and hesitating just short of his snapped horn. Rhett didn’t stir. What felt like a full minute passed before Link decided against it, instead bringing his palm down to hazard stroking Rhett’s cheek. Under his lids his eyes darted momentarily, and his next teetering exhale came out as a contented sigh. 

_Beautiful._

Hypocritical, Link knew, to watch him in his sleep.

But clearly, Rhett enjoyed it when they touched, too.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah,” Link says abruptly, and laces his fingers with Rhett for the walk. 

So what, if he looks weird.

It might not fix the dread entirely, but it helps a hell of a lot. Link doesn’t know why he still isn’t talking—presumably Rhett _wants_ him to, if he’d felt strong enough to mention it—but Link doesn’t have the heart, and Rhett doesn’t push it. 

In quiet they stroll, Rhett’s eyes on the sky and Link’s on the ground. And things stay that way—calm, collected, increasingly able to face being back on campus again after vanishing—until a particularly strong breeze scatters the leaves on the sidewalk before them, and Link’s suddenly staring down at a driver’s license revealed by the gust.

He stops, pulling Rhett to a halt with him.

“Bo? _Oh._ What’s that?”

“An ID,” Link mumbles, not letting go of him to kneel and pick it up. “Someone must’ve lost it.”

“What’s an ID?”

“It’s a card humans have that lets them do different things based on their age.” Link holds it out to inspect it, far enough away from his person that Rhett can lean in, too. “See? It’s gotta little picture of the guy, and his name… where he lives. _Avery Webster,”_ Link reads, rubbing his thumb under the text.

“That’s him?! You look like this Avery guy!” Rhett laughs, shoving his finger at the tiny photo of a man with feathered dark brown hair and not-quite-as-bright blue eyes. “If you took off your glasses, I bet you’d look _just_ like him!”

“He _does_ kinda look like me.” Link grins. “We should probably get this back to him. Sucks, when your ID gets lost. Maybe he was in a hurry and it fell outta his pocket or somethin’.”

“Well, now, wait a second,” Rhett proposes with a shifting of his feet, and Link sighs and peers up at him. “What all do IDs let you do?”

“Well, mine doesn’t look like this. I ain’t got my license yet,” Link explains, turning the card over in his hand. “When you turn 18, you can buy tobacco products.”

“You need to be _18_ to smoke cigarettes these days?!”

“And 21’s the drinking age.”

“Oh—oh, shit, I _know_ that would make most people feel bad, since I helped you get drunk and you’re only 19, but eh. Pretty pleased ‘bout that. What else?”

“I dunno. I think at 25 you can rent a car?” Link shrugs and slaps the thing on his thigh. “Then they’re pretty much boring ‘til you’re old. Senior citizen discounts.”

“Back up,” Rhett grins, and Link’s already trying not to smile at the glimmer of mischief in Rhett’s eyes.

“Rhett, _no.”_

“You said we can borrow a _car_ with one of these?”

“I’d have to pay to rent it!”

“But you _did_ say a car, right?”

“Rhett—I can’t drive! I’ve barely got any hours on my permit!” 

“Link—a _car!”_  

Arguing with air on the side of the street. Totally normal.

“We’re on the way to campus!” Link stresses, squeezing Rhett’s hand and still trying not to smile. “What, you—you wanna go rent a car and just drive? Just steal someone’s ID and commit fraud so we can take a joyride, with the windows down, and the radio blasting, and—and we end up at the ocean together, and…”

He searches Rhett’s face.

His demon is absolutely glowing.

Link sighs and turns the ID over in his palm, relenting a grin. “Fuck.”

_“Yes!!”_


	17. ...and Maybe One More

“Well done, _Mr. Webster.”_

“Holy shit.” The hushed words fall from Link’s lips in a mantra as he nimbly takes the stairs from the rental office to the parking lot below. If anyone inside is watching him leave, his rush is definitely going to raise suspicion. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.”

“You really did it!” Rhett’s hot on his heels, baring a grin so wide that his fangs look like wintry sickles. “I can’t believe we’re doin’ this!”

 _“I_ can’t believe I gave them the family credit card to hold for incidentals,” Link warbles, relocating the tagged key in his hand with vacant stare and slowing to a stop. “Lying and saying my parents have a different last name? If anything happens, I am _so_ screwed.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take!”

“You’ll be screwed too, Rhett! You forget we’re together or somethin’?!”

“Psh, calm down. That’s _why_ I’m not worried about it. Worst comes to worst, you know we’ll handle it just fine.” Rhett’s crowding him, all but ripping the keys out of Link’s weak grip like an eager dog with a chew toy.

“I dunno which of your powers can fix a car crash,” Link bites back, lofting the keys away from Rhett’s hungry attention. “Or death!”

With a roll of his eyes, Rhett towers over him and scoffs. “You’re not gonna _die,_ bo. So dramatic.”

“Well of _course_ you’re gonna be dismissive of that. You’re immortal,” Link mumbles, but he’s already focusing on the number on the tag. The car is in parking spot 73. He doesn’t even know what it looks like, just that he’d answered a series of yes or no questions for them to land on the make and model. “Seventy-three…” He gazes out over the lot, beginning his hunt for the right spot when Rhett whistles.

He’s standing by the hedges near the stairs and pointing into them. “Backpack.”

Whoops. Link retrieves it and slings it over a shoulder with a grateful look. Would’ve been bad to leave a bag containing marijuana outside of a place he’d just committed fraud. Rhett exaggerates a dutiful salute and takes off to find their ride while Link unzips a side pocket and stuffs his wallet in. 

How did this happen? Everything had seemed easy as recently as two hours ago—but Link should know better than to assume any day spent with Rhett would go as planned. Not that any of this is Rhett’s fault, Link reminds himself. _He_ could’ve said ‘no.’

“Did you say ‘seventy-three’?” Rhett screams from halfway across the acre, Link wincing at the ruckus. In lieu of yelling a response to a phantom, he breaks into a jog which eases until he’s speechless by his demon’s side.

They’re staring down at a bright red convertible. 

 _You’ve got to be kidding._ “Oh—”

“This is the best day of my life,” Rhett sighs dreamily, one hand on his hip and the other arm falling over Link’s back. “Ready to hit the road?”

It would be easy to get pissy. To crack a joke and lash out at Rhett for having been the voice of unreason on Link’s shoulder—all the guy’s missing is a pitchfork to fit the look in movies. But there’s no use getting mad _now._ What’s done is done, and if he’s doing this, he’s _doing this._

Link mashes the button on the fob. The car chirps and unlocks, headlights flashing once. “Get in,” Link tells him, stoic, and Rhett claps and skips over to the passenger door.

Passing his pack to the back floorboard, Link fires up the engine and takes time to adjust the mirrors and his seat—the only thing he had significant experience with behind a steering wheel. A beautiful black leather makes up the interior of the vehicle, clean and well-cared for. The controls scattered across the dashboard are intimidating, to say the least, but after familiarizing with them briefly, Link finds he recognizes all of them. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

It’s not like he’s _never_ driven before.

“Hey, Rhett.” 

“Hmm?”

“Watch this.”

Link presses the only button he’s never seen in person before. The top of the car shifts, peels back, and lets in the cold outdoors slowly. The look of bubbling joy on Rhett’s face is worth it. 

“Oh, _fuck yes!”_

“Right?” Link chuckles and grabs the gear shift, but pauses to motion at Rhett’s chest. “Buckle up.”

“Seriously?” Rhett’s happiness is a fragile thing. “Why?”

“Safety first.”

“I’m immortal! You just said it yourself!”

“Right. So when we get into a wreck, and you’re thrown through the windshield and hit the length of our tether like a brick wall, that won’t hurt at all. Right?” Link deadpans. “That won’t be uncomfortable for you at all, huh?”

Rhett’s mouth turns into a thin line as he buckles up, eyes not moving from Link’s. 

“Good boy.” Link drums his fingers on the steering wheel before fishing out his phone and setting a route for the beach closest to Raleigh. It’s a two hour drive. Best get started.

He navigates the car out of the lot carefully, triple-checking that the road is clear before pulling out and beginning the path to the nearest highway on-ramp. It’s cold with the top down, but like hell they’re gonna take a joy ride in a convertible and not use it. 

“Why don’t you find a radio station you like?” Link suggests, nodding at the controls.

“How?”

He talks Rhett through it, and it’s more of a game for the demon than a serious task as he dials through people talking, flipping between AM and FM for kicks, interrupting the songs with broadcasts and tittering. Once the joke’s run its course, he fortuitously focuses and ends up on a classic rock station blasting Journey. 

“How’s this?”

Link smiles. “You like this one?”

“Better than the shit you listen to.”

“You’re gonna have to get used to my music,” Link argues half-heartedly, nerves preoccupied with accelerating to merge into traffic on the freeway. It goes fine though, and soon they’re cruising without incident. 

It’s fucking _cold_ at 60mph in October. 

“Jesus.” Link’s covered in goosebumps, and true to demon nature, Rhett’s watching him quizzically.

“What?”

“Freezing,” Link trembles, shivering into himself without taking his hands from the wheel.

“Here.” Rhett reaches across and puts his hand on the back of Link’s neck, palm practically searing the cold-reddened flesh. The heat blooms slowly, travels down his chest and up through his scalp. It isn’t leeched away in the fashion worldly heat would be—it’s enveloping and persistent. Link relaxes into it gradually as it bleeds through his system, lips parting in relief. 

“That’s… better. Feels good,” he nods. Rhett had said something about ‘thank yous’ during their rooftop talk, so Link’s been erring on the side of caution lately.

Rhett’s quiet. When Link looks over, the demon has his eyes closed. Wind whips through his hair, horns unperturbed. Peaceful.

With his hand steadfast on the nape of Link’s neck, Link finds the confidence to enjoy the drive for what it is.

 

* * *

 

Their arrival to the beach is welcomed by the sun as a fiery orange yolk on the horizon, nestled in a watercolor field of purple and pink over glittering waves. The dark tide comes and goes in a gentle roar only audible thanks to the convertible’s retracted top.

Link hadn’t counted on daylight fleeing so soon; somehow he’d forgotten that sunset arrives earlier and earlier as autumn progresses. A glance at his phone charging on the middle console reveals the time to be 6:30p.m. Not too terrible.

He checks once more that Rhett hasn’t woken; sure enough, his demon’s head is lolled to the side, eyelids down, hand still planted listlessly on Link’s back. He’d slipped into sleep soon after they’d started touching. Amazing, that he’d made progress on that front so swiftly.

The car is parked in one of many spaces that make up a vacant row adjacent to the wooden boardwalk. Even past that, the dunes of sand that are always whiter than Link remembers are lifeless; it’s far too cold to be at the beach. 

For normal people, of course. 

With visibility waning fast, Link doesn’t want to waste more time. 

“Rhett.” He nudges his passenger. When Rhett’s face twists in aggravation, Link grabs his thigh and shakes it. “Rhett. Wake up. We’re here.”

There’s something undeniably breathtaking about the way Rhett rejoins the world. How he looks around like he’s rediscovering consciousness, how Link can see crystal clear the reflection of the sunset riding his linear pupils. 

Link awaits his judgment, but after the demon spends a long time scouring the shore from one end to the other—totally silent, hair ruffling in the salty breeze—Link knows he’s been rendered speechless.

Maybe Earth ain’t such a bad place after all.

Unbuckling, Link removes the key from the ignition. He doesn’t break the spell when Rhett copies his lead. He doesn’t ask him what he’s doing when he hops over the car door instead of opening it. He doesn’t call out ‘wait up’ when Rhett takes small, stilted steps down the boardwalk, as if following a siren’s song toward the horizon. 

He does, however, trail after him a respectful distance so their tether won’t restrict Rhett’s wonder.

At the sand, Rhett hesitates. Puts one sneaker down into the stuff and tests his weight, continuing once he’s got the hang of walking, sights back on the ocean. Link takes his socks and shoes off swiftly, setting them at the bottom step of the boardwalk and relishing the grainy softness between his toes. 

Hands limp at his sides, Rhett continues his steady march until he’s right where the sea laps its highest. And there, he stops and watches, tail stilled.

Link stops, too.

Yards ahead, his demon’s silhouette is haloed by a burning amber star sinking below the horizon, rosying the sky further and casting neon swatches to the heavens. The hush of water rushing and receding, sparkling behind his ankles. From here, Rhett has no horns—lost in his coiff. From here, Rhett has no tail—buried in the shadow of his body. It’s striking. 

Human.

Link taps his pocket, preparing to get out his phone before he recalls—again—that it’s no use.

He’ll just have to try and memorize this. How intrinsic this being is to this chapter of his life.

Something moves in the sand near Rhett’s feet—a tiny white crab, near-translucent and skittering over the knolls that must seem massive through its stalked eyes. Link smiles, glancing back and forth between the critter and its unwitting victim as the distance between them closes.

When Rhett finally notices it, it’s racing for his shoe. The guy spares it attention much the same way a cat would: head bobbing around to fixate, leaning in and judging the alien life form with an unsteady gaze. Where the crustacean should bump into the soles of his sneakers, Rhett lifts his foot, and a flash of panic hits Link at the thought of the crab being stomped out. But Rhett simply watches it continue its harmless path, freeing the way for it one leg at a time until it’s in the clear and gone.

Why are Link’s eyes burning?

“Vaz’gorhett.”

Rhett perks and turns with a level gaze.

“Do you like it?”

The demon gives one slow nod, and spares a long glance at the sunset. “Never seen the ocean before,” he admits quietly.

As impossible as that sounds for an omnipresent being, it’s not the time to voice disbelief or tease. Not given the gratitude blanketing this; Link gets to be here for it. Humbling.

“Take off your shoes and socks.”

The way Rhett locks their gazes together as he follows the command—it’s something he’s been doing a lot lately. This time is no different; his fingers twitch and suddenly his footwear’s gone, which Link only registers in his periphery. Rhett’s toes dig into the sand, flexing and kneading as he pays his master mind. 

Sun-beaten hair golden brown in the dusk light. Leather jacket caught adrift his hips in a saltwater gale. Angular pupils held fast on Link and unafraid of simply existing as they are. 

He’s always been this gorgeous. From the first time Link’s laid eyes on him.

“Vaz’gorhett,” Link repeats, throat tight and dry. 

Rhett blinks expectantly. 

“I really wanna kiss you right now.”

The candid words burn the skin where his jaw meets his neck as soon as they’re out of his mouth. The space between is agonizing, but his tether’s face doesn’t change. There’s no pull of disdain or twinge of disgust at the admission. When he does finally speak, Link strains to hear it over the crushing tide.

“You could command it.”

Link shakes his head, lungs reaching as the wind carries his hair from his face. 

It’s not the same—it’s not for lust, nor for adrenaline, nor to fulfill Rhett’s needs. It’s scary, and selfish, and caving in to a snowballing desire that had been lurking at the edges of his mind ever since they’d shared the same body. 

“No. _I_ want to kiss _you.”_

Rhett’s eyes tick away—just for a heartbeat—before they’re on him again. 

“So what are you waiting for?”

Link moves without thinking. Strides over, where his hands cusp Rhett’s face and stroke over his cheekbones. Warm and stubbled crests below his patient eyes, which are also warm. His lids lower as Link hesitates, breath caught. Searching Rhett’s face for signs of amusement or turmoil. There are none. 

Link wants to be like him. A jagged rock in the sea, unflinching.

The balls of Link’s feet sink into the sand when he hoists onto his tiptoes.

Soft. Worlds softer. Forgiving, plush lips and puffs of air exchanging on faces. Link’s never been in control of a fleeting moment before, but when his hands find either side of Rhett’s shoulders, he’s sure it’s the right way to anchor them together. 

He’s outdone almost instantly when Rhett’s fingers—achingly slow—graze gentle touches under Link’s ears, holding the kiss gingerly as though he might break it by nature alone.

A man kissing a demon. It’s probably wrong, by most folk’s accounts—but tell that to the drugging warmth and inherent _good_ that blossoms outward from the contact. 

Security and happiness bubbles in Link’s chest until he can’t help it anymore and breaks a giggle into Rhett’s lips. When he opens his eyes, shaking his head with apology, the fond smirk on Rhett’s face knocks the wind out of him. Irreverent, inhuman pupils.

He looks happy. 

Doesn’t stop him from being a douchebag.

 _“Fuckin’ dork.”_ He leans in to press their foreheads together.

“I know. I couldn’t help it,” chuckles Link with a shrug. “You feel it too, right?”

_“What do you mean?”_

Link might combust if his demon doesn’t stop giving him those eyes.

“It’s like havin’ a good dream while you’re awake. I know you feel it too.”

 _“Ah,”_ Rhett nods. _“I feel it, too. No need to be so shameful about it, though.”_

“No shame. I love it.”

Eyes slipping closed and chest thrumming, Rhett takes a calm breath—which is promptly squashed out when an icy wave ventures farther than its brethren and soaks their feet.

_“Fuck!”_

Link bursts into laughter, shuffling back into the tide and clapping as Rhett high-steps away from the water comically with a hiss. _“Lord below, why is it so cold?!”_

“It’s cold out!” Link manages, returning to Rhett’s side and pulling on his arm, play-dragging him back to the water. “C’mon, don’t you wanna go swimming?”

_“Hell no!”_

“It’ll be fun! Where’s your sense of adventure?!”

_“I’d rather die!”_

“What if I command you? Ohhh, Rhe-ett…”

 _“Do it and I will drown you_ so _fast!”_ Rhett growls a vicious smile, turning the tables and sending Link squealing as he takes off after him down the shore. The brunet is no match for the blond’s long legs, and when their torsos collide, Rhett hoists Link into the air with disarming ease. _“I could dump you in! Just plop you right into the water!”_

“Bet you won’t,” Link sneers down at him.

He’s right. Rhett doesn’t. Instead he begrudgingly lowers him to his feet.

“Only ‘cause we gotta get back in that car and I don’t feel like listenin’ you complain for the next two hours.”

“We can’t leave yet.” Link snorts. “I’m not driving illegally for four hours just to spend a few minutes on a beach.”

At this, Rhett glances around like Link’s crazy. “I don’t exactly see lots of stuff to do here.”

“This way,” Link gestures, back towards their car. “We’re gonna try to build a sand castle.”

“A what?”

“Just—c’mon!”


	18. The Tale of the Blue Goat

Even if Link can’t take photos of Rhett, he can still take photos of their creations left behind. Illuminated only with the flash of his phone’s camera, he now has a miniature shoot session that catalogs the rest of their evening together at the beach: a crude castle made with flattened palms and scrappy twigs; sand-angels side by side, one complete with a dip for a mammalian tail; and even a phallus etched into the shore, a joke-turned-dare fulfilled by Rhett, who’d drawn it with his _horn._

“I did a good job on that dick,” Rhett muses from the passenger seat, swiping through the pics. He flips his face toward Link and grins. “‘Not the first time, either,’ I bet you’re thinkin’.”

“Oh, gosh.” The pained slant of Link’s eyebrows draws shit-eating laughter from Rhett.

He must be planning on staying awake for the return trip; they’ve been on the road a good 40 minutes now, and Rhett’s energy hasn’t faltered. Assuming he only gets tired with touch, Link had put the roof back on the convertible to keep out the cold. On one hand, his theory working out is a relief; he really doesn’t want to make the return trip in silence.

On the other hand, Link’s more nervous than he had been en route to the beach. Without Rhett’s comfort, he’s acutely aware of how _illegal_ this still is… and how alone they are on the road. There aren’t any other headlights to keep the rental company. Does safety in numbers imply danger in solitude? What if the car breaks down and they have to call for help…? Anybody could stop and approach them.

“You’re quiet,” says Rhett after what couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds of silence. “Now what are you obsessin’ over?”

Link checks his rear mirror and frowns. “Why’s it gotta be ‘obsessing?’ Why can’t I just think about something?”

“‘Cause that’s not how _your brain_ works. I know you. But if you wanna play that game, fine—what’re you ‘thinking’ about?” 

Shifting in his seat, Link shrugs and hopes it looks less chaotic than he feels. “Just wanna be home. Still can’t believe we did this.”

Rhett dumps Link’s cell into one of the cupholders rough enough to elicit an annoyed _watch it!_ from the driver. Always doin’ shit to piss him off, it seems—but then Rhett’s hand is upturned on the console between them. Link glances down at it lightning-fast, scared to take his eyes off the road.

“What?”

Rhett pulls a foot into his seat and rests his elbow on his knee, mashing his cheek to the knuckle of his other hand. 

“It’d make you feel better,” he mumbles. 

 _Jesus_ , he sounds bored.

“No.” Link scoffs and elbows Rhett’s hand away. “You’ll fall asleep.”

“What? No I won’t!”

“I need both hands to drive anyway, Rhett.”

“Fine.” 

No sooner are they quiet than the hand slips to Link’s thigh. Rhett squeezes gently, and… fuck. It usually makes Link feel better—like a goddamn drug—but irritation flares in his neck, unprecedented and raw. 

“Rhett, seriously. Stop! Sometimes it’s _reasonable_ to be anxious, you can’t just stroke it away every time!”

“Fine!” Rhett bites again, turning to glare out the window. “Just so we’re on the same page, that didn’t make _me_ feel any better, either, asshole.” An uncomfortable silence fills the cabin until Rhett growls, “Don’t feel much of anything ‘cept the fuckin’ sand in my… _everywhere.”_

A sympathetic smirk breaks over Link’s features. “Same.”

“Shoulda warned me. I might need to shower when we get to your place, which is a first.”

“To _my_ place,” Link echoes, rapping his fingers on the wheel.

“What?”

“You could just say ‘home.’ You live there now, too.” A derisive snort makes Link look over, but Rhett’s scowling at his reflection in the window and doesn’t say more. “I’m serious.”

“Noted.”

“Surely you don’t consider _Hell_ your home?”

“Can we not—the fuck is _that?”_

Link’s heart free-falls into ice water as he follows Rhett’s indication to their side mirror, and further to check behind them with the rear-view. 

He registers the blue and red at the same time the sirens kick on.

“Oh, fuck,” Link gasps. 

All of the air has been sucked out of the car as the police cruiser pulls up steady behind him, proving the nightmare true. 

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, _fuck!”_

“That’s bad, then?” Rhett states in a level, observant tone—one wildly inappropriate for the fact that the world is crumbling around Link. 

 _“What do I do,”_ he whimpers. Everything is ice-white as he numbs and flips on his turn signal, first easing into the slow lane, then laying gently on the brakes. The lights are still right behind him. Tracking him.

There’s no getting out of this. No two ways about it. Link’s going to jail. 

The siren cuts off as he shoves the gear into park and wrings his hands into his hair. “I’m so fucked, Rhett,” he whispers, shoulders heaving fast with panic. “We’ve got weed and this isn’t my car and this—”

He whips his wallet out and throttles it in the space between them. 

“This sure as _shit_ ain’t my ID!!"

It would be all too easy to haul off and punch Rhett in the time it takes the demon to suck his teeth thoughtfully and ask, “Can’t you just give them _your_ ID?”

“Mine’s—it’s just a permit, Rhett!” Lightheadedness consumes Link when he looks again and a blue uniform is closing in on his driver’s side mirror.

“Just thought I’d double-check before I do this.” 

Rhett throws open his door and Link flatlines. Any potential for protest leaves him, lungs and throat leeched dry of that opportunity as Rhett stands. The cop’s voice is deep and demanding when it rings out in a yell:

_“Stay in your vehicle!”_

The officer can’t see him. All he knows is that a door is open. Rhett strides around the convertible, out of Link’s view. 

_He’s going to kill him._

_I panicked, and he thinks my life is in danger, and now a man is going to die._

There are lots of lines Link had expected to cross in his time with Rhett, but this had never been one of them. Murder—when the cop had simply been doing his job. Link had probably been speeding, or had accidentally rode the shoulder for a little too long while he’d been distracted by Rhett, or—

The knock at his window jolts Link out of his dread spiral. It’s the officer. 

Link rolls down the glass, every bone liquefied to jelly as he musters up the normalcy to hold a conversation. With the obstruction between them gone, he offers a twitchy smile. 

“H-Hello, officer.”

_“H͕o̲͎̦̳̟̝w͈̜͙͔̳̯d̼̪̩̱̩̮͖y̤̬͙̲͘,̖̞͓͍̻͕̰ ̱̹̮̺͓̣̼b̙̘̦̫a̷̤̟͉̙̳͚͔b̨ͅy͎̣̘̱̘͎.̯̞͕”_

Link’s mind crashes and burns as he finds the cop’s eyes. 

Yep. They’re Rhett’s.

“Shit.” Link exhales a hard sigh and slumps into his seat. “Fuck, Rhett.”

 _“Problem: I dunno what to do now.”_ Officer Billy looks down at himself and turns this way and that, inspecting his new digs. _“Damn, does this guy have some cool toys, though. I recognize the handcuffs. What’s this thing?”_ He unbuckles a pouch and pulls out a sleek black canister of mace. 

“Rhett…” Link sinks his face into his hands and rubs under his glasses, trying to think.

 _“Also, check it—a gun!”_ He unholsters the Beretta and waves it around as Link recoils towards the passenger seat. _“Do all constables carry these, these days? Seems like a horrible idea. Hey, Link. Check it out.”_ He puts the barrel of the gun to his temple and grins, the image searing into Link’s head as he leans in the car window with a beastly air. _“Ya dare me?”_

“Rhett, put the gun away!” shrieks Link, unbuckling and scrambling to get out of the vehicle. “Stop—just _stop_ messing with his weapons! You’re freaking me out enough as is.”

Rhett tucks the firearm back on his hip and crosses his arms. _“Spoilsport. Seriously, though, I was just improvising. Possessed him to buy us some time. What do we do now?”_

Link glances down the inky black freeway. They’re still alone, but the emergency lights on the cruiser are surely bright enough to see horizon-to-horizon out here. If anyone drives by, hopefully it just looks like a standard pull-over. 

Unless it’s another cop. Fuck.

“Okay, give me a second… I just… I need to think.” Leaning against the convertible, he rubs the sides of his head and stares at the barely-lit pavement. 

 _“You’d better not turn yourself in after I did_ this _for you.”_ Rhett gestures to his body with squared arms in a downward sweep. 

“No,” Link agrees, “but I can’t think of a way we leave. We can’t kill him, Rhett. If we could just—shit. Maybe if…? That could work, but we gotta…” Unable to finish any of his trains of thought, Link settles on taking action and closes in on his demon. He leans in close enough to make Sheriff Rhett balk away in confusion.

_“Don’t kiss me when I’m in this dude!”_

“No, I’m—I have a plan, but first we gotta destroy evidence. Lookin’ for a body cam,” Link murmurs, scrutinizing Rhett’s uniform. It’s difficult to focus in the flashing emergency lights, but after he follows a curled wire connected to the man’s chest, it’s pretty hard to miss. “That thing. We have to erase the recordings on it, Rhett.”

 _“So do it.”_ He puffs out his chest to say _have at._

“I can’t—it’s gotta be you. Can’t leave my fingerprints on his gear, just in case.”

Grumbling, Rhett cocks his head down at the compact black device. It might as well be a Rubik’s cube. He twists it around before squinting at a button and reading the label. _“Delete?”_

“Yeah! Hit that.”

Rhett does, and the thing beeps in confirmation.

_“Done. What next?”_

“He probably has a dashcam.” Link sighs and throws his sight back to the cruiser, shielding his eyes with an arm. “You gotta go erase the data from that, too.”

_“Fine.”_

“This poor guy’s gonna think he was abducted by aliens.”

"I _wanted to kill him,”_ Rhett stresses over his shoulder, returning to the vehicle his body’d arrived in. Thankfully it doesn’t take long before he shoots a thumbs-up through the windshield. He leans out and throws his hand over the roof of the car, full face cast in harsh strobes of color. 

Hard to believe that’s Rhett. Save the voice, of course. 

_“So. What’s your plan?”_

“Hope this works,” huffs Link. It’s all based on speculation, after all—observations that had piled up in his head over the past week. He starts for the cruiser and thrusts a finger at the inside. “Rhett, sit down.”

He does. _“Hope you’re not about to ask me to drive this thing. Then he really_ will _die.”_

Link rounds the door and stands beside the seated Deputy Demon. “Gimme your hand, Rhett,” he orders, extending his palm in the allotted space between them.

 _“You… you wanna hold hands? Like this?”_ Rhett tries to cock an eyebrow up at him, but the officer’s facial dexterity must not be the best; it comes out as a sickened grimace. Link doesn’t need to ask twice—it had been a command, and with a sound of nasal displeasure, Rhett slips his hand into Link’s. _“Okaaay.”_

Whatever uncertainties exist flee quickly when their skin meets. Rhett doesn’t _feel_ like he usually does in Link’s touch; his fingers are pudgier and knuckles thick and clunky. But the _sensation_ is still there, and judging by the way Rhett’s eyelids lower to stare at their joined palms, Link’s not imagining it.

“Rhett—go to sleep.” 

The possessed body leans back, head lurching to meet the headrest with a thump. Earlier that day in that car, it had been pretty fast—a few minutes at most. Link waits out a grace period ,and with the passage of time comes the increasingly awkward recurring revelation that he’s standing on the side of the road holding hands with a snoozing officer of the law. _Really_ uncomfortable.

At the first snore—funny, Rhett never snored in his own skin—Link lowers the officer’s hand to his side and backs away, giving the door space.

“Rhett,” he whispers as loud as he can without disturbing. “Exit his body.”

Rhett aparates from the door of the vehicle and his eyes pop open in surprise, falling and stumbling forward until Link catches him and saves him one asphalt kiss. 

“What—? What the fuck,” he groans, the heel of his hand finding his forehead and rubbing. “Oh, that… that was unpleasant.”

Link smiles and turns the physical support into a quiet hug. 

He’d missed being able to see Rhett in his normal form, even after a relatively small time.

Dumb.

Link snaps back to the moment when Rhett—unsure of what’s going on—slowly returns the embrace, as if that’s what Link is waiting for. It’s not, but it’s still nice; his demon smells good. Like cinnamon and sugar. Hadn’t he smelled of something else, once?

“Not that I’m not impressed with your quick thinking,” Rhett starts, and Link’s already pulling away and nodding, “but we should get out of here.” 

Quietly as they can manage, they climb back into the waiting convertible. Thank goodness he’d left their keys in the ignition. The creep along the shoulder of the road lasts until the flickering lights are nothing more than a speck behind them. Letting out a shaky exhale, Link gives the car gas, ushering them into the safe distance of night.

“Good job back there,” Rhett gives a toothy grin of approval. “Still would’ve been nice to kill ‘im, but I’m kinda… proud? Nah, that’s too strong a word, but—”

“Nope. You’re proud of me, you just admitted it,” Link laughs, turning on the radio. “Hope we didn’t miss anything. Oh—good job on handling those cameras, by the way. I know you don’t get technology very often…” Link’s sentiment hiccups when he looks over and sees Rhett on his hellphone. “‘Cept _that_ thing. But you did real well, Rhett! Remind me to give you some pets when we get home.”

“Link.”

“No arguments. I _know_ you like them, just let me do it for you, okay?”

“No, that’s not—Link.” Rhett holds up his phone, face tight with reluctance. “It… turns out maybe we _shouldn’t_ have let that guy off so easy?”

God dammit. 

God _dammit._

Presented with an opportunity to do more justice in the world, and Link had flubbed it up by not entertaining the idea that maybe someone with as much authority as say… _a cop,_ would deserve punishment for one thing or another. Christ, the things officers get away with, too...

“Really?” The word is a shameful whisper. Part of him hopes this is a shitty joke on Rhett’s end. _Haha, told you we should’ve killed him!_ “The stuff he’s done—that bad?” 

Rhett nods, solemn. “Yeah. I’m… _fuck._ ”

Link’s stomach twists. 

It’s too late. Not like they can turn around now; it’d been a close call as is. They’d had one chance, and they’d missed it. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry, Link.” 

Now, that’s— _that’s_ totally uncalled for.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Link has trouble paying the road as much attention as he should while he stares down his tether. But Rhett’s expression has only tightened, scrunched and reminiscent of a dog that knows better awaiting punishment. Link shakes his head adamantly. “No. Rhett, if _I_ don’t apologize, _you_ don’t apologize, either!” 

His tone isn’t as soft as he’d meant it to be. More like a parent who just watched their child wander into traffic.

After double-checking that he’s still between the lines, he looks over at Rhett again. The demon’s eyes are wounded and locked on the floorboard past his feet. It’s not a good fit on a demon—on _his_ demon. All wrong.

“Rhett, I—it’s okay. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong! You followed my commands to the letter!”

 _“Is_ it okay? I know more than anything you wanna catch bad humans. A chance to do so landed in our laps, and I missed it. It was my responsibility. And I fucked up. And now he’ll go free.” The gentility is unbearable. Rhett sounds broken. Ashamed. “That’s not what you want.”

“Rhett, hold my hand,” Link blurts, throwing it to rest on the guy’s leg. Rhett does, but based on the lifeless way their fingers interlock, it’s clear he doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

Fine, then. 

This isn’t about Link anymore.

“When we get home, we’re gonna find a way to get him locked up,” Link announces, sitting up straight like twine’s pulling his crown. “And I’m gonna need your help again.”

It takes a few seconds for Rhett to breathe, “Really?” But when he does, something has shifted for the better, and Link smiles at the road and nods.


	19. Pretending

“It’s your worst idea yet, Link.”

“So you don’t trust _your powers,_ then. ‘Cause it’s pretty clean cut.”

“Fuck off. I’m not saying I _won’t,_ I’m just saying it’s different. He's a cop.”

“Rhett, it’ll be fine. Don’t think about him tonight, okay? Tonight’s just for fun.”

The oven beeps like a debate timer going off, and Link doesn’t mind the levity that returns as he slips on mitts and retrieves the baking sheet from within. The conical lumps of clay have hardened nicely; they’re a bit misshapen and have shrunk, to boot, but they’ll do the trick. He sets the creation on the kitchen counter and fans off some of the heat. “Whaddya think?”

Rhett slumps onto the counter from his bar stool. “Crude, at best.”

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Link chuckles, turning off the oven and flopping his mitts beside the sheet. 

“Would’ve been easier to go buy a costume.”

“Maybe. But I spent a lot of money on the rental, and Halloween stores are always, like… they jack the prices way up. It’s criminal.”

Link rounds the counter to the kitchen table and digs through the crate he’d retrieved from a storage closet. He fishes out the ensemble a piece at a time: the red sweater, the black joggers, the silken cape with ostentatious popped collar, the long, pointy, clip-on tail, and the collapsed pitchfork. The last item he braces on his leg and pulls ‘til it extends, shoddy lengths of plastic unraveling like a dollar-store lightsaber. With a grin he waves the three-pronged hunk of crimson junk in Rhett’s face. “Ooo, I’m gonna torture you!”

Rhett snorts and bats the thing away. “S’fucked up, kiddo. And _this,”_ he twirls his hand over the piled-up articles, “is absolutely ridiculous. The fuck do humans think demons look like?”

“You’ll see once it’s on. Gotta paint the horns, though. And glue ‘em to a headband.” Link glances at the craft supplies set out beside Rhett.

“Stupid.”

“Hey, humans got the horns right.”

“So what, you want a medal? Still stupid.” Rhett spins around and pokes a clay horn, tipping it just so. “Think these are cool enough to touch now.”

“Considering it’s _you_ tryna be the judge of that, I’m gonna give them another minute.”

Sighing, Rhett pulls out his hellphone and taps around. “What time is this thing?”

“9. We’ve got time.”

“And it’s at Jake’s?”

“His friend’s place. Jake just invited us.”

“Invited _you,”_ Rhett corrects boredly. “I’m an unwilling participant.”

“Rhett.” Link sets the pitchfork down and moseys over to the grump. It shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat when he leans forward and hugs him from behind, but tell that to his nerves. “You’re gonna have fun!” he offers to Rhett’s back, smirking at the dismissive grunt that thrums in his tether’s chest. He hikes his chin up and rests it on Rhett’s shoulder. “You’re gonna see lots of dorky mortals dressed up like idiots. Me included. Try to enjoy it.”

“Again—you’re the one who wants to dress like a demon for Halloween. S’weird to me.” 

“Not weird. Feels appropriate.”

Rhett shrugs him off with a grimace. “Just don’t make me carry you home again.”

“Don’t worry. Not gonna drink this time.”

“We’ll see.”

Without warning Rhett’s freshly paint-dipped finger rises up and pokes Link’s nose, leaving the tip wet and red. Link blinks, brow furrowing, and Rhett chuckles at his indignant silence.

“I’m not going as _Rudolph.”_

“Who?”

“Nevermind. Let’s just paint these so they’ll dry in time.”

 

* * *

 

“Finally,” Rhett grumbles as their destination creeps near. 

On the outskirts of a subdivision that’s under-lit thanks to the spacious layout of the streets, the home with peeling white vinyl sides and a wrought iron fence parameter of the yard beckons them. A low, steady pulse of music leaks from the yellow windows. It’s too cold out for porch-dwellers, but this is definitely the place. “This walk was way longer than you led me to believe.”

“I’m the one traipsing around neighborhoods in a full costume.” Link checks his phone to find a message from Jake that reads _just let urself in when u get here,_ and doesn’t share it with Rhett. “You ready?”

“That’s _my_ line. I’m always ready.”

“Alright then. Rhett, turn off touch and possess me.”

 _“What?”_ Rhett turns and looms close, dragging their bodies closer until the much-missed burn seeps into the space where his arms phase through Link. Link beams up at him in the moments where it feels like they’re going to kiss right there on the sidewalk: Rhett’s eyes inches from his own, startled and searching; the dip of his head to slip into Link; the last words that leave the mouth that belongs to him alone, _“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”_

The hot flash subsides and they stand tall and blink around at their surroundings. 

“I like to keep you guessing, yeah,” they say to themselves.

It feels even better than Link remembers, to be puppeted and cradled like a small weak thing. To surrender and let Rhett control his inhibitions. It’s a coil of warmth that’s usually reserved for tightness in the pit of his stomach, but spread _everywhere,_ constant and buzzing, and it’s decidedly nonsexual. 

Maybe.

 _“Why? Why’re we doin’ this?”_ They ask, glaring up at the house and starting in long strides to the front porch. “It’s Halloween! I’m going as a demon, and you’re going as a human dressed as a demon! _That’s… god dammit, you’re so fuckin’ stupid, Link.”_

They jog to the porch and slip a hand in their pocket. “Be nice to us. Also, play nice with the other kids. Try’n have fun.”

They grunt and permiss themselves entry to the party, opening the front door to a gaggle of festive young adults done-up six ways from Sunday. When everyone stops and stares, Link reminds himself it’s because they’re an interrupting newcomer and not because they can tell anything unusual is going on. And normally, Link would be nervous, but Rhett’s the pilot of this abomination, and he wears the role well.

_“‘Sup, freaks?”_

A few people laugh, spurred by intoxication of various sorts, and Vaz’golink shuts the door behind them and makes their way inside.

The hold Rhett has on them isn’t tenuous; it would be easy enough for Link to nudge him out of the way and take the reins, to guide them around the party. But—as stupid as it sounds—this is for _Rhett_. The guy never gets to just… exist. To have agency and unwind. This way, at least he can drink and smoke if he wants. Can get into some stuff he otherwise wouldn’t be able to.

_Oh._

Uhh.

What if Rhett wants to get laid?

Christ, Link really hopes that if the demon’s looking for that, he at least chooses someone Link would be able to deal with the repercussions of once they’re separated. How hadn’t he thought of that? He does remember Rhett professing that gender doesn’t mean anything to him when it comes to fucking around, and that isn’t a problem for Link, either, but… _wow_ , he really should’ve considered that sooner.

“Hey, man!”

They turn and find Jake pushing through a small group of girls with a booze-boosted smile on his face, gripping a beer can. He’s dressed as… they aren’t sure. He’s got an eye patch that isn’t pirate-y, a brown leather jacket that’s worn white at the seams, blood and dirt on his face, and his plugs tonight are… like, dangling chains of human teeth. Where’d he even find those?

 _“The fuck are you supposed to be?”_ they ask, looking him up and down.

“I’m a wastelander,” Jake laughs. He turns and showcases a studded hatchet that sags from his belt. Not even plastic. This kid brought an actual weapon to a place where alcohol is flowing freely. They should be surprised. “You know, apocalypse aesthetic? End of the world?”

 _“An ax won’t help you come end times,”_ they say before shaking their head and forcing a laugh. “You look good.”

“Thanks. The devil!” Jake extends his pointer finger around his beer, motioning to the clay horns on their head. “I like it. Seems fitting, for you.”

“S’posed to be a demon, but close enough.” Link is complicit when they reach out and take Jake’s beer from him, testing the heft of the remaining brew. _“Go get yourself another,”_ they say, and _somehow_ Rhett’s absolute assholish nature works swimmingly. Jake snorts into a tickled laugh and nods.

“You got it. Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

 _“Heavens forbid we leave_ this,” they mumble, casting their gaze out over the room again.

The party is crowded and overflowing with folks mingling, not yet set into their cliques in quite the same way they had been at Jake’s. In fact, one of the closest groups is broken at the shoulders, its members eyeing them with small smiles. All of whom are girls. Pretty girls. 

They lean against the wall, upper back meeting with the cool surface, and say, _“How ‘bout them?”_ They sip the beer as one of the girls with face paint like an owl giggles and starts a conspiratorial whisper with the group. “What...? _Which one you like best, bo?”_

They swallow and drum their fingers on the drink. “I… I don’t care. Whichever you like best, I guess.”

So this _is_ happening.

 _“Mm.”_ The next time the group of girls looks over, Vaz’golink snaps—producing a small burst of fire that trickles quickly out of existence—and gives them a finger-gun. _“Hey.”_

Whatever Rhett had been going for, it works—approximately half of their jaws’ go slack and the others begin squealing in awe and close the distance to the man leaned on the wall.

“How did you do that?!”

“That makes your costume _so_ much cooler, what the hell!”

“Whoa, check out his contacts! Freaky!”

“Do the fire again!”

 _“Only if you ask nicely,”_ they drawl, and their stomach flips when a blonde dressed like a yellow bear immediately pouts her bottom lip playfully and bats her eyelashes.

“Please?”

They snap again, producing more fire. It singes their fingertips. The instant it’s done, owl-girl grasps their palm and upturns it, searching for the source. “Seriously, what the hell? Are you a wizard?”

 _“Of course not. Don’t act like you don’t know what a demon-in-the-sheets looks like.”_ The burn set out on the words widens the girl’s eyes, and her friends go wild with snickers and teasing slaps on her shoulder. 

Link can feel how low their lids are on this woman. How hot their cheeks are, how they’re smirking. None of it is his doing… maybe ‘cept the blush. He’s _never_ this confident. Where the fuck did Rhett learn pick-up lines this suave, delivered with such ease? Their stomach is souring, and _that’s_ definitely Link’s contribution—to make them feel sick in the middle of Rhett having fun. 

It’s not lost on Link when they close their eyes and reach a hand up and caresses their own chin, stroking back their jaw in what must look like thought to anyone else. _“Don’t get me wrong, baby,”_ they say to no one in particular, and their gut unknots marginally.

Right. He’s just having fun— _they’re_ just having fun. Apparently.

“Jake, who’s your friend? Is _this_ the guy you invited?” asks the one dressed like a rabbit—why are they all animals?—and eyes open to see Jake approaching with a fresh drink.

“Yeah, this is Link. Cool dude. See you’ve met Missy,” Jake nods at still-recovering owl-girl. “Keep an eye on her. She’s a wild one.”

 _“He’s_ the one with tricks up his sleeve, Jake! Do it again!”

 _“Lord below, y’all are like children,”_ they grumble, but acquiesce with another snap of flame. 

The stun that paralyzes Jake’s face coaxes up laughter from all of them, along with a high-pitched chorus of _“Right?!_ He doesn’t even—it’s gotta be a chemical on his fingers or something!”

_“Again: I’m a demon. Y’all are just too easily amused.”_

There’s… a trace of humor in the insult. 

Rhett’s already having a good time.

“What other things can you do then, oh mighty demon?” Missy asks with a quirked eyebrow, and they smile.

_“Shit you’d dream about for the rest of your life.”_

They take a deep breath, because _god,_ how the _fuck_ is Rhett so good at that? He’s glowering like a serial killer and everyone is eating it up, Jake included. Missy’s turned a shade of pink that can’t be _entirely_ courtesy of alcohol. She’s into it; it’s written clear in everything about how she’s handling herself, practically cornering them against the wall, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. 

“I’d like to see more of your tricks, then.”

Link lets go.

 

* * *

 

Minutes slip into an hour of entertaining the group. Drinks flow freely for everyone else, but after their first, Rhett opts for them to switch to smoking instead. He’s asked to do the snap-fire trick several more times, and one hour turns into several, Link in the back seat and watching a movie about a college party that he honestly can’t decide how to feel about. 

On one level, it’s absolutely _wretched_ watching Rhett flirt with Missy and pal around with Jake. They absorb his thinly veiled malice with welcome arms—something that thus far Link had been able to shoulder alone. He tells himself it’s petty bitterness, and not the seamlessness of it that fosters some semblance of self-hatred. 

He’d fought Rhett tooth and nail their first few days together. Yet these strangers were tantalized by him instantly. How uptight had Link been, to resist his charms so adamantly…? ‘Cause—demon nature aside—they’re right. He’s as lovable and charismatic as they find him to be.

On another level, it’s wonderful. 

Rhett’s having a blast. Living a normal life, just for a night, and Link had given him that. He seems happy. 

It’s reaching the early hours of AM when the possessed stand, pardoning themselves from the circle. _“Bathroom.”_

“Need any help?” Missy offers playfully, setting her drink down. She really _would._ Link’s not surprised. In her shoes, he might, as well. If he were braver.

 _“You stay,”_ they order, and Missy shrugs it off with a wink. 

They make their way through the party, which has calmed significantly and thinned out enough to feel quiet and intimate. They jut off into the hallway where people have been vanishing all night and check the doors. The first is the bathroom, which they shut, brow furrowing. They keep going, checking the other doors until they find the garage. Stumbling inside, the light pouring in from the garage door’s windows illuminates the musty space.

“Rhett, what are we— _pumpkin,”_ they gasp.

And there’s no way Link can catch Rhett before he unbinds and falls, collapsing on the concrete in a limp heap. Link barely has time to acclimate to being alone in his skin again. He’s at Rhett’s side, eyes flying over his demon and patting him down, frantic. “Holy shit, Rhett? Rhett?!”

He’s out. Heavy and numb to everything. 

With shaking hands, Link unsprawls him into a more comfortable position, lugging his legs out and easing his head to the cold floor.

He’d stayed too long. Pushed himself too hard, and now is totally drained of power. The equivalent of black-out drunk for a demon. Why the _fuck_ hadn’t he given Link a head’s up?! Link could’ve taken back over, could’ve given him a break!

But. Link hadn’t commanded it, either, had he? 

Shit. He’d done this, then. He’d commanded Rhett to possess him and had never given him an out just in case. Had essentially forced Rhett into the driver’s seat without reprieve until he’d fallen asleep at the wheel. 

Link shivers, lording over his unresponsive body. When he presses a palm to Rhett’s cheek, it’s different. There’s no heat whispering of Hell. There’s no comfort from the contact.

He’s _so_ weak.

“Shit,” Link hisses, pressing a hand over his mouth. 

The fuck are they supposed to do now? He can’t leave Rhett in here. Someone could trip over him. And he can’t just go walking around. He might _drag_ the poor guy.

They have to go home. 

Link gazes around the room for options. There’s a side door that leads out into the yard. It’s their best shot; he refuses to lug Rhett’s dead-weight body back through the party like he’s got sudden-onset arthritis. They can sneak out the side door, and… then what? The walk home was lengthy, Rhett had said it himself. Link wouldn’t get more than a block with the demon on his back.

Maybe… Rhett had been able to follow his command while sleeping. Can he still follow commands while unconscious? Maybe ask him to shrink a bit with his shapeshifting, for easier carrying? 

No. For all Link knows, that’ll kill him, to try and dig up power when he’s already exhausted.

“Think,” Link murmurs, sweat breaking over his forehead. Another sweep around the garage is all it takes for him to hatch a plan born of marijuana and desperation.

 

* * *

 

Getting Rhett’s body into the little red wagon is difficult.

His limbs stick out over the sides, but at least this way Link can pull him. And it won’t be, like… _absurdly_ weird, walking home past 3 a.m. with a wagon in tow. Weirder people exist.

Careful to rest his head and neck in a position that won’t leave him sore when he wakes up, Link begins the long journey home, kicking open the side door to the house and dragging his tether home one foot after the other. He manages to make it away from the house and down streets, far enough that they should be in the clear from getting caught.

Bumping over cracks in the sidewalk, Link passes a gaze at Rhett.

He hasn’t so much as groaned since conking out. How long does he need to rest before he rejoins the world? How long is Link gonna have to be alone? It’s his own fault, no mistake, but… 

“Rhett?”

Nothing.

Link faces ahead, wrapping his sheet-thin cape around himself. 

“I’m so sorry. No matter how much I try, I can never seem to get the hang of treating you right.”

A dog barks in the distance as they traverse a crosswalk. 

“You told me once that I was too kind to you… or somethin’ like that. But that’s by demon standards. In human standards, this isn’t what a good friend does.”

He swallows, acknowledging the stickiness of his throat.

“You deserve better than me. But you’re stuck with me. No wonder you think humans are terrible.”

Rhett’s shoe knocks the curb. 

“I was jealous at the party. Kept thinking about you—’bout _us_ and Missy. Nothin’ against her. She seems cool. S’just… even when I try to do something nice for you...”

The words aren’t landing. Nothing he’s saying matters. 

 _He_ knows what he means. The dread that comes with it begs him to stop walking, to take a second and acknowledge that he’s human, and in way over his head. To let the sear at his eyes escape and roll down his cheeks, cleansing him of things dammed up that he’d been able to push down until tonight.

He has no idea what he’s doing anymore. 

Everything is snowballing out of control, even when Rhett _is_ there and steadying him every step of the way. And on a more basic level, that attachment is shameful, too; the jealousy hadn’t stemmed from Rhett’s affability, but rather from it shining on anyone other than himself _._

So spoiled. Can’t even admit to himself what he _knows_ is just under the surface, skating by and masquerading under stolen touches and the guise of physical comfort and release of bodies. Under the suggestion that they’re just two willing people gleaning something they need from the other for a quick fix. Like it’s primal on Link’s end, and could ever possibly stay that alone.

The word ‘want’ is nowhere in Link’s reasoning, as he knows it rightly should be.

And even if it were, Link clearly isn’t fit for the job of being with Rhett.

He reaches up with timid fingers and feels the fake horns on his crown, now frigid with night. Carefully, he pulls them off and tucks them into his pocket. 

“At least I can get you home, cinnamon.”


	20. More Than He Can Chew

“Not often we get fares to cities over,” the Uber driver says over her shoulder, smiling at Link in the back seat.

“Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not at all! It’s my job. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Less blathering would be nice,” Rhett intones, but Link simply shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Link does his best to level Rhett with a look that says _you’re being grumpy,_ which Rhett returns with a cold, hard _go suck a dead fish._ And maybe Link can’t hold that entirely against him; he’s crammed into a car that definitely isn’t designed for someone of his height, and the only reprieve he _could_ get in the form of resting his knees on the back of the driver’s seat ain’t gonna happen. 

Brow furrowed, Rhett returns his attention to his hellphone in his wide-legged lap. He announces his disdain in a loud sigh with growling edges.

“This plan is somehow _even worse_ than your original plan, which is a feat in itself. I’m not doin’ it.”

Unbothered, Link inspects their text log and fires off another message to him. It’s… disarming, to send a text to a number carrying area code 666 (and a little hokey, if he’s honest), but it’s a recent revelation and the best way to communicate in front of other people without raising suspicion. 

 _(919): You gotta do it. I’m gonna_  
_command you to do it. So…_  
_come to terms with that sooner_  
_rather than later._

Rhett’s nose twitches in a restrained snarl after his phone buzzes. His gaze on Link turns venomous. 

“Prick. You _know_ what happens if I disobey, and you’re gonna pull that kinda threat with me? You’re just fine and dandy givin’ me that kinda ultimatum?”

Link winces, glancing up at his broken horn, and types.

 _(919): The only reason you_  
_don’t want to do it is ‘cause_  
_you don’t trust my judgment._

“I don’t understand why we can’t just do the possession of Officer Dickbag like we originally planned!” Rhett swivels in his seat to bore a glare down into the side of Link’s head, which the brunet acknowledges with an uneasy side-eye. “Slip into his body, make him call himself in and say the guilt is killing him, can’t stand it anymore, done horrible things, yadda yadda yadda!”

Face drawn, Link responds.

_(919): You passed out._

He keeps typing, trying to get ahead of the snowballing rage of his tether in the seat beside him. The closer they get to the WPD’s office, the more feral he becomes.

“I passed out because I was _drained—_ ”

_(919): I don’t wanna risk that again_

“—not because possession is _dangerous_ for me now or anything—”

 _(919): What if the toll it takes on_ _  
_ _you is getting worse?_

“That’s not how it works!!” Rhett’s yelling, and Link scrunches down in his seat, fingers flying.

_(919): Just wanna keep you safe_

Rhett barely spares a glance at the screen before crying out a frustrated _“Gah!!”_ and dropping it to the seat between them. “You’re such a goddamned hypocrite!!”

 _(919): Again: you don’t trust me._ _  
_ _It’s gonna be fine, Rhett_

_(919): I’m confident it’ll work_

_(919): This is a new power we’re_ _  
_ _trying out. You should be excited_

Rhett’s brimming with such fury that he can’t seem to keep his eyes on the texts for very long, instead darting his attention around: out the windows, down the freeway, up at the ceiling. Like a caged wolf. Thank goodness Link had taken precautions with his aura before they’d left the house; he’d figured something like this might happen. 

“We almost there?” His curious check-in with the driver confirms that it’s working, based on her easy-going demeanor. 

“Yes, sir. ‘Bout another 15 minutes.”

“I hate this,” Rhett decides.

Link shrugs— _you don’t_ have to _hate it—_ and reaches out to rest his hand on Rhett’s, to ground him just a _little_ before they do this together. But Rhett flinches away from the touch with a flare of toxicity, fangs bared.

_“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!”_

At least he’s in a good mindset for it.

When the car rolls to a soft stop outside of the WPD, Link offers the driver a sweet smile and thanks her for the ride. 

“If you want another fare, I’ll probably only be in there for about fifteen minutes,” he mentions with a throw of his thumb. “You could stay and I’ll pay you for a ride back.”

“Oh! That—yeah, actually, that would be great. Should I just park and wait here, then?”

“Don’t let me stop you from doin’ what you need to do—but if you want, that works for me,” Link nods, and the words have barely left his mouth before Rhett kicks open his door and gets out, startling the driver. 

“What the…? Did that door just open?”

Link’s mouth falls open in a mix of anger and surprise, and he fumbles to cover for Rhett’s malignance. “Sorry, that was me. Long arms. I’ll…” He unbuckles and slides across the back seat. “Wanna get out this way.”

“Oh. Okay then, I’ll be waiting!”

Link gives the car a wide berth and joins a beyond-irate Rhett fuming at the corner of the building. He’s… well. Link can safely say he’s never seen Rhett like this before. Sure, his body language is telling: shoulders are hunched, arms are crossed, eyebrows are knitted so tight they could strangle someone. But more than that, he’s exhibiting fury like an illness. Whereas his pupils had remained human most of the ride here, they’re now slit like snake eyes. His tail is completely stilled at his back, rigid and bristling. 

Most notable are the flare-ups on his exposed skin that make Link do a double-take. They follow the grain of his body, flesh-hued spikes that look an awful lot like rose thorns trailing up his forearms and elbows. Never has he looked so poisonous _._

Or _demonic._

“Rhett?”

 _“Last chance to change your mind,”_ Rhett’s voice sunders the air between them—and even though Link can’t feel his upset, it makes him shiver. _“Don’t make me do this.”_

“I _promise_ you, Rhett: it’s going. To be. Fine.” Link’s words quake despite himself, and Rhett doesn’t believe him, jaw set hard and head shaking as he turns and strides to the front door. “Just… trust me. I’m not gonna be alone. There are other officers. And you’ll be there.”

A hiss is the only response he gets.

Link has to admit—the fact that Rhett’s so uneasy about this _does_ make him way more nervous than he’d been upon conception of this plan, but… he’s just being himself. 

If they’re going to take down Officer Skelton, as they’d learned his name to be, they need fresh evidence. Something hard they can push, something inexcusable, even by the standards of other cops. Something that can’t be swept under the rug and ignored.

Link fishes into his pocket and pulls out the single thing he’d brought to help him out today. 

His fake mustache. 

He removes the paper covering the adhesive backing and presses it on, checking himself out in the reflection of his phone’s darkened screen. 

 _“This is a joke to you, isn’t it?”_ seethes Rhett, boiling beside the front door. _“You think what you’re about to do is a game?”_

“No. I honestly don’t want them to be able to recognize me if they come looking for me later,” Link mutters, pushing the mustache down. It’s not, like… _movie_ quality, but it looks decent enough. “You ready?”

_“Suck my dick.”_

“Maybe later tonight. I like the spirit, though,” Link allows with a light-hearted point, and Rhett looks ready to combust.

The inside of the WPD is a clean, well-kept building with white surfaces and posters covering the walls that both advertise community outreach events and also warn of the area’s most wanted. At the front desk tending to a clipboard with a pen is a young man with wild red hair who looks up and greets Link with a smile. 

“Hello,” he sings, setting his work down. It’s a crossword puzzle. Slow goin’s ‘round here, it seems. “How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if Officer Skelton is in?” Link starts, hugging his phone to his chest with both hands. “I’d like to speak with him, if that’s alright.”

“Of course. What is this regarding?” The boy picks up the phone at his desk and punches a few numbers. It’s _almost_ comical how blissfully unaware he is of the evil emanating from over Link’s shoulder, face set like a nightmarish gargoyle on their happy chat.

“I heard that he was recently first to arrive at the scene of an unsolved case,” Link lies easily. That article on Skelton had been a bit harder to find than most of the ones with his name in the headline, but it’s a good in. “I’m writing an essay on evidence collection for my forensics course and was hoping to ask him a few questions.”

“Wow, that sounds fun,” the receptionist smiles with wondrous eyes, and finishes punching the number. “Officer Skelton?” he asks, grin ebbing a bit. “There’s a young man here who’d like to talk to you. He’s writing a paper for college. Wants to ask you about the Warner incident.” He pauses, gaze roaming the desk. “No, sir. I doubt it. Yes, sir. Okay, thank you, sir.” He hangs up the phone and points down the hall to his right. “Skelton’s door is the third on the left. Go on down.”

Each officer works in a separate room?

That’s fine.

Link glances at Rhett—he bites down on a noise of surprise when he finds the demon’s eyes sunken in, black around the sockets and cheeks gaunt. 

 _Christ,_ he looks unwell. Like a walking corpse.

With timid steps Link leads him down the hall, stopping outside the door that reads _Skelton_ and turning to address Rhett in a whisper. “Hey—look at me.”

The guy is a walking night terror. 

_“Mm.”_

“I know you’re worried. It’s gonna be okay.”

_“Mm.”_

“You remember the trigger word?”

Rhett trembles, eyes glued to Link’s. _“Vile.”_

“Good boy.” Link swallows, taking in Rhett’s face cautiously. 

Guilt creeps up from the hard tile floor, filling Link’s limbs like sandbags as they stand and acknowledge one another. _This_ isn’t Rhett. It’s not the Rhett Link knows—it’s not _happy_ Rhett, well-cared for and secure, and having to acknowledge that causes Link’s chest to run rigid. 

Fuck, he knows Rhett doesn’t want to do this, but seeing him so viscerally reduced to a shell of his former self is just—it’s another tally in the column for ‘bad master.’ Another mistake realized too late.

But they can’t turn back now. They’re here.

And it’s going to be fine. Rhett looking like an illustration straight out of _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_ isn’t going to affect how this plan goes off, and Link has insisted thus far: everything will work out. 

“You’re gonna do great,” he reiterates with a renewed, warm smile.

 _“That’s what I’m scared of,”_ Rhett creaks, ghastly features begging.

“Nonsense. We’ll be done in five minutes, tops.”

With that, Link turns and opens the door. 

He’s greeted with the same officer he and Rhett had played marionette with days ago. The man is seated at his desk, looking up at Link with an impatient expectancy of a pissed professor. “‘Bout time,” he grumbles, gesturing to the open chair across from him. “How long does it take to walk down a hallway? Y’get lost?”

“Sorry.” Link takes his seat and relaxes into it, giving his best smile to the man and trying to ignore the list of deeds Rhett had gone over with him last night. _Scumbag._

“That’s ‘sorry, officer,’” Skelton corrects, dropping his gaze to one of the various papers scattered on his desk. “What did you need? It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Right. Sorry, officer. I’ll be quick.” Link clears his throat, preparing his phone with the article about the Warner case. “I was just wondering—”

“Shut the door, will you?” Skelton interrupts, scowling at his inquisitor like he should know better. “Sensitive shit you’re diggin’ around for, here.”

“Oh. Of course,” Link bears through a grin and turns to nudge the door to, glancing at Rhett, who’s standing behind him and apparently attempting to murder Skelton with his eyes alone. “Didn’t mean to—”

“ _All_ the way,” bites Skelton with a huff, motioning at the door with waves like that might expedite the process. 

Hmm. Is murder _really_ out of the question? Link tempers his patience and clicks the door shut, forcing good nature through a tight jaw. “There we go. Anyway, I was reading up on the Warner incident, and—”

“Look, kid: whatever you’ve read is all of the information I have on the case as well. Alright? The guy was dead when we got there, there were boot tracks too covered in snow to be of any use. The K-9s didn’t find anything. What else could you possibly wanna know?”

“I was wondering if any DNA evidence was located on the scene?” Link jumps right in, poised to pretend. “Seems weird that the weapon was there, and there was plenty of blood, but no leads past that.”

“Weird, sure. But that’s how it was.” Skelton crosses his arms and frowns—looks natural, given his wrinkles. “Anything else?”

“I just…” Link hesitates, rubbing his chin for show. “How come you couldn’t pull fingerprints from the gun?”

Judging by the way Skelton’s face hardens, it’s the right thing to say. “We _tried._ There were no prints—guy’d worn gloves.”

“So you believe it was a man, then, officer?” Link perks up, punching away at his phone. “Interesting conclusion to draw. Especially since there’s absolutely no evidence to indicate the criminal’s gender.”

At this, the portly officer leans back and squints at Link long and hard. “The fuck kinda game is this to you? What, you some kinda hobbyist? One of those ‘true crime’ freaks that doesn’t trust authorities an’ goes lookin’ to dig their nose into shit where it don’t belong?”

“I guess you could call me that,” Link ahems, switching the browser on his phone to the next tab.

To the case Rhett _knows_ Skelton is guilty for. 

“D’you mind if I ask about the Jameson incident?”

Those are the magic words. Instantly Skelton’s on his feet, stepping around the desk. “Alright, time to leave.”

“Officer, I really just wanted to—”

“Hobbyist my _ass!”_ Skelton shouts, all trace of playing host gone. “You waltz in here, and—you’re just another undercover journalist thinkin’ they can get somethin’ from me that media haven’t already harassed me for for _years!_ What, you think it’s a fun little _joke_ to try an’ ruin my life?!” 

Link’s eyes travel to the coat rack in the corner of the small room as Skelton fires himself up. The officer’s gun and taser hang from his utility belt, dangling on one of the wooden knobs. Link bites the inside of his cheek. 50/50 odds aren’t great.

“I’ve had it up to _here_ with you fuckin’ millennials!” Skelton spits, lifting a hand to chest-height and shaking it. “Somethin’ doesn’t turn out the way you want, the truth of the matter ain’t the way you want to see it, and suddenly it’s _your_ job to bring everything to a grindin’ halt as you take to the streets and protest and shit, but guess what?! That’s just another way to get locked up!”

“Why are you so angry?” Link wonders aloud, cocking his head.

“Why’m I angry?! Are you—who the fuck _are_ you?! Did you hear a damn word I just said?!” The officer’s face is turning purple, sweat beading on his forehead. 

Link’s fingers twitch on arms of his chair. Calves flex, feet braced flat on the floor.

Rhett’s hand finds his shoulder. Link covers it with his own, squeezing. 

“I just think… for you to be satisfied with yourself, to be able to live, _knowing_ you killed someone? It’s _vile.”_

A bass thrum behind Link; a heartbeat shock wave. 

Skelton’s face creases and morphs into an inhuman mask of outrage, a guttural swear rolling off his thick tongue as he spins and reaches for the coat rack at the same second that Rhett throws open the door and says breathlessly,

_“Run.”_

Link does. 

He bolts, off and down the hall, heart leaping into his throat as the unmistakable blast of gunfire chases his heels and the reality of manipulating a man to attempt yet another _murder_ sinks in. 

Rhett had done his job exceedingly well: Skelton’s screams ring down the corridor as he stumbles after Link. 

A glance over the shoulder isn’t the best idea, as it provides Link with the unfortunate permanent memory of a man in blue lining him up in the sights of his pistol. With a horrified gasp, Link tries the nearest door handle, falling through the portal as another shot rings out. Draw of luck—if it’d been locked, he’d be bleeding out now. 

_“Link!!”_

Rhett’s howling like a wounded animal elsewhere in the station.

Thank god he’s not in any danger. 

Staying quiet as he can while sucking in adrenalized breaths, Link crawls across the floor and hides under the oaken desk in this room. Skelton’s footsteps are heavy in the hall as he closes the distance, and Link’s fingers tremble as he presses his arms up into the underside of his coverage. When the footfalls still, Link squeezes his eyes shut, and Skelton helpfully fills the silence.

“You think I can’t tell the _one_ place you’d be hiding in here, you maggot?” 

The next round fired shards wood by Link’s leg, splinters burying past his pants with a burning sting. 

_“Fuck!”_

Riding adrenaline and pushing against the desk, Link angles it toward the door. 

_Why aren’t other cops responding to this?_

_Is Skelton the only officer in the station?_

“Get outta there, you sack o’ shit!” Skelton yells. His stomps shake the floor as he closes the distance between them. A severe kick on Link’s shelter shows just how fragile it is, pitted up against a man drunk on red and lack of repercussions. Link’s blood slips cold. 

He’s gonna die.

All because he thought this— _this—_ was a good idea.

“You wanna go stickin’ your head in other people’s business?! Gonna be a lot harder without a head!”

Link braces, arms shielding his skull, curled tight in a ball and awaiting the next shot.

It never comes. Instead, there’s a not-unpleasant popping sound, followed by jumbled gurgling and something that weighs probably about 250lbs hitting the floor. 

Stunned, Link unfurls himself and peers around the desk. He’s met with Skelton’s convulsing body, two probes jutting out of his back that are connected to long wires, which _themselves_ are connected to a taser, which _itself_ is in the visibly shaking hands of the receptionist standing in the doorway.

“Holy shit,” Link deflates, temple hitting the linoleum.

Speechless, the redhead waits until the electrocution is complete and crawls atop Skelton, kicking his gun away to a baseboard and swiftly cuffing him. “What—what in the _fuck.”_ There’s a small black device on his chest, and he leans into it and pinches it. “Harrelson, c-can you please come inside? I know you like t-taking your coffee in your c-car, but it's an emergency.”

Every muscle in overdrive, Link pulls himself to stand and stumbles past the scene. “Rhett,” he calls quietly, heading down the hall.

“Hey!” the receptionist barks after him. “You can’t leave, you have to give a statement!”

“‘Kay,” Link blurts, out of sight and continuing down the corridor. “Rhett.”

In Skelton’s office, Link leans in and sees him.

He’s sitting, curled against the wall and caging his head in his arms. 

Had the chase down the hall really been short enough for Rhett to stay here? Jesus, it hadn’t _felt_ like it.

“Rhett.”

Rhett’s eyes snap up to Link’s, wide and injured and green.

“Let’s go.”

With no small effort, the demon rises and follows obediently, head down and arms tight around himself. It’s only when they get outside and are nearing their parked Uber that Link monotones, “You were right, Rhett.”

His demon doesn’t respond. 

This time, he waits patiently for Link to open the door for him, and slides all the way across the back seat. 

Nonplussed and blissfully unaware, the driver perks up and turns her music down. “Welcome back! Ready to hit the road?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wow, so formal all of a sudden. Aww, they gave you a fake mustache—that’s _fun!”_

Link reaches up and feels the ridiculous disguise, peeling it from his lip with numb fingers. He exchanges it in his pocket for his phone and sends a text.

_(919): Can I hold your hand._

Rhett’s obvious shellshock doesn’t leave his face as he reads the message four times. Once the content of it sinks in, however, he reaches over and collects Link’s bare knuckles in his palm, holding their grasps together with a baseline of lifelessness. 

It helps. A little.

“‘Scuse me, miss?”

“Yes?”

“I might… bleed a little, in your back seat? I tripped and scraped my knee on the way to the car.”

“Oh, goodness! Don’t worry about the car, are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah.”

He’s really, really not.


	21. Let's Talk About That

It’s a blessing that Link’s parents aren’t home, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing the door shut with more force than necessary. It rattles on the frame in a way that feels too close to home. 

Link sets his jaw and spins to regard Rhett. 

He’s planted on the far side of the room. Head bowed. Shoulders tight. Legs set wide in stance, anticipatory and eyes coalesced to steel, whet on Link. 

That’s fine. He’d known—same as how the demon’s turmoil had increased exponentially as they closed in on the police station, the last few miles of the ride back had been much the same. The air in the car had fogged into a tension that would’ve ignited if touched. Rhett had been holding it in.

Is still.

“Rhett,” Link starts, gauging him.

His tether’s nostrils flare in response.

The guy might be furious, but everything had _essentially_ gone as planned. Even if he doesn’t like it, Link is the master, and he’s got to get a rein on this before it’s too late. 

“Why don’t we sit down on the bed? We can _talk,_ and maybe—”

 _“Stay the fuck away from me.”_ Rhett emanates it more than says it—the rejection pulsating off of him is so perilous that it’s a certainty Link will acquire physical injury if he doesn’t acquiesce. Unfortunate, since touch is truly the only ace up his sleeve to calm Rhett down. 

“Fine,” Link nods, patting down the air, “we don’t have to be near. But I think you need to take a minute and—”

 _“Don’t you dare command me right now, either.”_ Rhett tilts his head back to the light, showcasing his drenched-red irises. _“Not for this.”_

Link snorts, scrutinizing him. Why shouldn’t he know what’s best for Rhett while the guy’s out of his mind? Like being asked to calm down and have a seat while they talk about shit would be unforgivable. Squaring his shoulders, he glares. 

“Fine.”

_“Do you know what a demon is, Link?”_

The brunet’s brow furrows as he drops his arms to his sides. “What? Of course I do. What kinda question is that?”

 _“Enlighten me, then.”_ Rhett cocks his head hard, unnerving and unnatural. _“I wanna hear what you think I am.”_

Whatever confidence Link had been harboring plummets, ‘cause that’s… a hell of a request. It’s difficult enough to focus with Rhett emanating raw upset, but to be asked about the nature of his partner? Seems like a trap. Link runs his tongue over his bottom lip, ignoring the throbbing in his wounded knee. 

Rhett had used a specific word, once: parasite. No chance in hell Link is going to parrot that back to him.

“You’re a being who—”

 _“Wrong.”_ Rhett slices through the words before Link can work himself into an answer. _“We aren’t people, Link. We aren’t mortals, we aren’t subjected to the same rules and experiences.”_

Something about the rumbling undercurrent in his murmurings is worse than outright yelling. Hard to imagine how poorly this would be going if he hadn’t turned off Rhett’s effect on his emotions long ago. 

_“You really think you and I are the same? You really think you understand the order of things better than I do? Think you’ve figured out something that my omnichronic existence hasn’t yet?”_

“What?” Link shakes his head, taking a step forward. That single foot of closed distance causes Rhett to sidestep, circling him like a boxer in a ring. “I never said that. You’re not even lettin’ me talk!”

His newfound predator nods eagerly, cruel sneer revealing fangs. _“That’s ‘cause everything you say is asinine! You’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about, so I think it’s time to explain it to you in a way that might sink in, for once.”_ Rhett takes a seeking inhale, the air around him wavering in dry heat. _“Demons are_ tools.”

That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does for a self-proclamation.

Link squints, inches closer—and that’s taken away with another sidestep. Rhett’s not letting the space between them diminish in the slightest. But _he’s_ the one with ungodly power. He’s the one who can cause hurt; why is he so scared of being touched?

“You’re not a _tool.”_ It’s insistent, but Rhett’s grinning maliciously at the floor and shaking his head, not hearing it. Like he’s listening to the drivels of a child gush about imaginary friends. “Rhett, you’re not a—”

 _“I am. You gotta stop thinkin’ I’m not.”_ He pauses to shove a finger in Link’s face from feet away. _“That’s your fuckin’ problem. You think I’m like you. You think you’ve got it figured out, and you couldn’t be further from having your shit together on our arrangement.”_

Something cold and sharp nicks through Link’s chest, gasping a breath where he hadn’t meant to. 

“Rhett, are you _listening_ to yourself?! You _are_ like me! You’ve got the same kind of body, you understand me more than my own parents do these days! You’re dehumanizing yourself constantly, and for what? To what end?!” Link takes several paces forward, and Rhett hisses with a curl of his lips and backs into a corner of the room, giving him pause. “Why are you so desperate to see yourself as something inhuman?”

 _“‘Cause you’re the least competent master I’ve ever had!!”_ he snarls. The thorns are back. They’re ridging his cheekbones and piercing out from his brow, and Link takes a shuffling step back. _“Demons are tools, and you need to learn to use yours pretty fuckin’ fast, or we’re gonna—”_

He stops, chest heaving.

Link’s stilled, watches Rhett’s eyes lock on the carpet and widen.

“We’re gonna what, Rhett?”

Rhett’s sight flicks back up to his human’s and the harshness doubles on the angles of his face. _“You had goals, once.”_

“What?” 

Link isn’t following. Rhett’s all over the place.

_“What was your life like? Before you unwittingly hired me?”_

“I…” Again—this feels like a trap—but Link can answer it pretty simply. “I was a student.”

_“And do you still consider yourself a student?”_

The pair juggle who’s able to maintain eye contact. Link throws his gaze out the window, watching the trees rustle in the breeze. “Yes.”

_“Liar. We both know you don’t.”_

“So what, Rhett?” Link groans and turns, grasping one of the posts of his bed and twisting the knob of it with rigid fingers. “Like you care what I do with my measly time. We’re only together for five years. Past that, you don’t have to think about me anymore.”

 _“No. You’re right. But_ you _do.”_

Apparently he’s forgotten about the space between them; with Link’s attention broken and shamed, Rhett strides over and looms right at his shoulder, neck craning to try and meet their eyes as he speaks. 

 _“That’s what I’m saying. The fuck is your goal, now? What are you doin’? You think you can just _…_ ” _ He shrugs, at a loss. It’s softer than Link expects. _“Stop going to school, and become a vigilante, risking your life daily? Okay, let’s say you do—how you gonna keep that up when I’m not here anymore? When everything falls on your shoulders?”_

Link doesn’t respond.

 _“Demons,”_ Rhett reiterates, pressing the words into Link’s temple, _“are tools for humans to reach the means to an end. Goals they have. When a demon is put under contract,_ normal _masters have a plan. Become the richest in their city. Have their creative works known far and wide. Marry into royalty. But you?”_

The human knows what the demon’s going to say before he says it.

_“You’ve got nothing. Just… fuckin’ around. Risking your life, because apparently you’d never really lived it ‘til I got here. And now you’re drunk on it. Chasing it so hard that you’re gonna get spit out dead on the other side.”_

“Rhett.”

_“Could’ve helped you graduate. Could’ve made a name for your family. Could’ve made you irresistible in others’ eyes. Even vanilla shit like that didn’t entice you in the right way, though.”_

Rhett pauses, as if to give Link a chance to defend himself. 

He doesn’t. 

_“You’re terrible at using me the way I’m intended to be used. And a part of me knows that ain’t gonna change.”_

Link lets his lids slip low, face burning in… something.

_“Such a waste.”_

“I—” Link hesitates, ducking his head away from Rhett and trying to ignore the shape of him in his periphery. “I thought you at least liked it. Us.”

_“‘Like?’ Irrelevant.”_

“For me it isn’t, Rhett.” Grip hard on the wood of his bed, Link frowns. “You’re not a tool, to me. Not a parasite, neither. You’re a person. And you’re right. Nothing you say could possibly change that. So… forgive me for not wanting you to be a _means to an end,_ I guess.”

Rhett breaks away, stalking to the bathroom door and leaning on the frame for reprieve and lack of elsewhere to escape. 

_“Such a goddamn joke.”_

Link whips his head up. 

“Is it _so hard_ to believe that I care about you, Rhett?! That I’d prefer to just—let you be happy and spend time with you, ‘cause I value you _past_ what you can offer me?” His voice breaks, and he twitches his head with a grimace, plowing on. “My favorite times with you’ve been ones where we aren’t even _doing_ anything! The—Jake’s party, and the woods, and watching you eat food for the first time. Smoking on the roof with you?”

Rhett hasn’t moved, face hidden.

“And if—” Link swallows hard, willing tears to stay where they belong. “And if you can’t relate to that, or if it’s not _fulfilling_ or _fun_ for you, or whatever, I… I guess that’s fine? But don’t get mad at me just because I care about you! I’ve had to figure this out on my own, because—you fuckin’ _ruined_ me, and are somehow still the most important person in my life. By a long shot, Rhett.”

He tries to shrug, tries to be unaffected. 

“But this is fine.” Link drops everything, examining the state of his room with renewed interest. “We’ll just… I dunno. I’ll stop. Yeah? Since I’m clearly a fuck-up and you can’t seem to get what you’re looking for from me, it’d be stupid to continue, right? We don’t have to interact anymore. You can just— _haunt_ me, or whatever. Fuck around with me for kicks when you’re bored. I won’t get mad. Do my best to ignore you from here on out, and we’ll wait out the clock together. Neither of us will—”

 _“Link,”_ Rhett spins and points to his feet, steady but severe. _“Come here.”_

“No,” Link whispers, frozen.

 _“Must be nice to have that option,”_ Rhett says back without missing a beat. 

Chagrined, Link reanimates, slowly closing the distance between them until they’re near chest-to-chest in the bathroom doorway. Link can’t meet his gaze.

_“Look at me.”_

He does. Drags his eyes up until they meet Rhett’s—soft. There’s no trace of anger anymore. His thorns have receded, expression’s relented, and he searches Link’s features in kind with pupils that float on green. 

_“Don’t ever ignore me.”_

“God,” Link breathes, skin buzzing. “You _really_ can’t relate...? This isn’t—doesn’t feel…?”

Rhett blinks slowly, corners of his mouth tugging down. _“Not_ supposed _to.”_

“To what?” Link begs quietly. 

_Wanna touch him. Make him feel better._

Nodding, Rhett runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles, an action that’s quickly replaced by a glance up at the ceiling and disbelievingly wet eyes as his demon breaks.

_“Not s’posed to fall in love with you, you idiot.”_

All of it—the admission he wears like humiliation, the scratch of his throat on words so needed, the impossible yet real tears trailing down into his beard—it’s too much.

 _Hold him, kiss him_ — _said he didn’t wanna be touched, didn’t wanna be commanded, didn’t—_

Then too much time has passed, and Rhett’s shaking his head in defeat, burying his face in his hands. Link tries collecting him, tries pulling him close as he shrinks away. 

“Wait! Listen—”

 _“Don’t,”_ Rhett rasps, employing another goddamned sidestep to back into the bathroom. _“I can see it on your fuckin’ face—just don’t. You can’t.”_

“Why not?” Link follows as easily as if their tether has shortened, joining him in the small space and feeling a flare of irritation at his swollen knee for having the gall to hurt at a time like this. “Rhett, why not…?” He hazards grabbing Rhett’s arm and strokes, wracking a sob from his demon. He winces at the affliction, feeling the anguish with every shredded breath sucked in. “Please?”

 _“Because I’m not good for you, Link!_ ” The words burst against linoleum, Rhett guarding his head from them as he crouches and pulls his knees in. _“I’m—I’m_ _evil, and you’re pure and good, and—”_

Link can’t kneel with his injury, but he can gather Rhett’s arms and pull him back up from the floor as quickly as he’d wilted. “Come here, Rhett,” he commands, done with distance and pleasantries. “I’m not gonna listen to that.”

Rhett stands, eyes puffy and eyebrows knit, and Link collects him in his arms and buries himself in the warmth of his breast like home. 

Soft. The bouquet of spices and ash. Link raises his head and brings his lips to Rhett’s throat—spreads kisses gentle enough to break goosebumps over skin. 

“You think _I’m_ ridiculous?” Link muses. “Think you’re just as forsaken here as you are in Hell? Tearin’ yourself apart in the same breath you use to talk about me like I’m some kinda saint? Guess what: the person you claim as ‘good’ has witnessed you, and he knows _you’re_ good, too. You didn’t break your horn for nothing.” 

Link rearranges with a pitying chuckle, bringing his hands to either side of Rhett’s face and stroking. It floods his veins with relief and pleasure—Rhett must feel it too. His tears have stopped. He’s patient. Listening. 

“Been dyin’ to see you happy since I realized that, Rhett. I’m kinda _crazy_ about you. Obsessed.” Link laughs in self-derision.

An insult dies on Rhett’s lips, relenting into an enfeebled smirk, and _g_ _od,_ Link isn’t lying about seeing him happy. Like absolution.

“I just…” With a hopeless huff, Link shrugs. “I'm in love with you, too. Do whatever you want with me, Rhett. All of it. I’m yours.”

Smirk finally breaking into a smile, Rhett finds Link’s hips without hesitation and palms them gently, drawing their bodies close—allowing Link to dip into the thrill that comes with acceptance. 

 _“You realize that was a command?”_ Rhett’s honeyed response comes in low, and Link nods and beams into the kiss Rhett starts.

It’s soft at first and transports Link to the beach, to the waves and fleeting moment stolen together far from home. But then Rhett is cupping the back of Link’s head, fingers fanning up through his hair and tilting his mouth to deepen their kiss. Rhett’s tongue requests entry with a ticklish lap that sends a shiver over Link’s shoulders, and it’s hard to push away the recognition that _last_ time they’d kissed like this, Link had been in charge.

It’s a stark difference. One hand is fixed to Link’s nape, the other firm at the low of his back, grasping at his shirt, ensuring space can’t creep between their hips. He’s being guided as if it’s a dance, nothing left to worry about as Rhett takes his time sating himself on the taste of his human. The urgency exists only as a humming slide towards more—not frantic or desperate—and Link dizzies. 

Rhett is unbearably loving, and apparently it’s all he ‘wants’ right now.

 _“Listen to me,”_ he breaks to say, hooded eyes following Link’s as the smaller one blushes into Rhett’s cheeks, _“when I say something is a bad idea. You’ve any idea how scared I was that I was gonna lose you today? It’s a miracle you’re alive.”_

“I know. I’m really sorry,” Link mumbles, seeking out another kiss, but Rhett pulls away and examines him with tender eyes.

_“I mean it. No more of that. You want me to be happy? Stop endangering yourself.”_

“Yes, Rhett. You’re right. I won’t do anything like that again.”

It isn’t an active decision, to be so formal and respectful—simply one born of the sneaking suspicion that Rhett needs to feel heard—but the words are enough to make the demon swallow and straighten. 

He’s probably not used to feeling authoritative. He’s gonna have to get used to it for now.

 _“Okay. You said whatever I wanted,”_ he mutters, gathering Link’s hands and rubbing the back of them with his thumbs. _“...Fuck. Never gonna get used to how good it feels to touch you.”_

Link laughs and nods, drunk off it. “I know. Me too.”

 _“So… what I really wanna do, pumpkin?”_ Rhett falters before nodding to the rim of the bathtub. _“Sit down.”_

Curious excitement piquing in his chest, Link does as he’s told—filthy images of Rhett unbuttoning his pants flash through his thoughts as he clenches his thighs together. He sits pretty, hopes his eyes are stunning when he blinks up at him. “Okay.”

Rhett lowers to the floor in front of him. He leans in close, and Link prepares to be touched again when the water cuts on. Startling, the brunet swivels to stare down at the gushing tub. “We’re gonna… take a bath?” 

Which. Yeah, he’d fantasized about _that,_ too, hadn’t he? He’ll take it.

_“Take off your pants.”_

Finally it registers, and Link deflates.

“My leg?” he clarifies, pointing at the dried blood on his jeans. “Rhett, my leg’s fine.”

It's probably not, but they're kinda in the middle of something here?

 _“You said ‘whatever I want.’”_ The sizzle of disapproval on Rhett’s side-eye is flagrant. _“We’re cleaning your wound up.”_

Link wants to argue. Wants to pull him into another kiss to distract him, or command to be fucked right there on the side of the tub to top off hearing that he’s loved for the first time, but that would make him a huge asshole, wouldn’t it? So he presses his lips thin and starts removing his footwear and pants, cringing at the way the fabric sticks to his knee. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Rhett agrees, taking his pants and tossing them aside. “This should have been priority number one when we got back.” He brings his face to the affected area, passing feathered touches over the splinters of wood jutting out and the scrape where—

“Oh my god, I didn’t realize the bullet hit me?” Link blurts, twisting his leg to gawk at it. There’s a small ditch of cauterized flesh—a pathway burnt out by metal greeting skin, yet not entering it.

“Mm. You were running on adrenaline. Makes sense. Turn around,” Rhett instructs, and Link spins to drop his feet into the tub. The water’s warm. “Alright. Lemme see.”

His hands splay on either side of the injury as he takes note of everything, with Link unable to tear his gaze from the demon long enough to join him. 

“Lots of wood. Gotta get that out first. Gonna be painful.”

“Great,” Link monotones, libido effectively squashed. “Whatever you need to do, I guess. There’s bandages and antiseptic under the sink.”

“I’ve got it.” Rhett shakes one of his hands out, and when it’s no longer a blur, his fingers have turned to razor-sharp claws burnt black. His nails are fused to his skin seamlessly, and he angles over Link’s knee, judging where to start as Link bites down on a yelp of fear.

Careful as Link’s ever seen him, Rhett grabs a splinter with his claws serving as tweezers, and pulls it out. It’s painless. Doesn’t stop blood from spouting at the exit site, though, and Rhett cups a palmful of water and pours it over the entire wound.

Mesmerized, Link watches Rhett remove the shards of wood from his leg one piece at a time. He makes quick work of it, tugging angles perfectly to minimize discomfort. 

A few minutes later, Link’s knee is clean. Riddled with pinpricks that bleed lazily—but no longer a pincushion.

“Rhett,” Link mumbles as his demon slaps off the water and retrieves first aid supplies. The blood is wiped away, alcohol poured, ointment applied, and Rhett even locates a bandage large enough to cover the crimson gash of the bullet’s trail. 

“That’s a scar, but it should be fine. Right? Only saw a handful of emergency care situations with a past tether, in medical tents. Those guys had it way worse.”

Stunned, Link nods, working his way to speech. “Y-Yeah. Thank you.” 

Wait—shit, he’s not supposed to thank him.

But when Rhett wipes his hands back to normal and smiles up at Link, he’s as peaceful as someone fresh out of meditation. “Now. _Where were we?”_

Link’s mouth shuts, and a blush blooms pleasantly on his neck.

Back to business, then.


	22. Kinds of Being

_“Come on. Over here.”_

Link has seen it written in passing periodically throughout his life, typically a quick descriptor for-lack-of-a-better-word: 

Incubus.

_“You sure you want this? You can change your mind.”_

A male demon whose sole intent is to seduce humans. Slipping in through windows in the dead of night and delivering wet dreams to mortals in their sleep. Riding them and drawing power from the moans and lust that follow. Irresistible, supposedly.

_“You’re too damned cute. Hate it, when I can’t act on it.”_

Not once had he considered that label in relation to Rhett. Not outside of _his_ dreams, anyway. Rhett’s just a demon; nondescript and not particularly specialized in any one brand of sin. And yet, Link had never entertained the notion that perhaps it wasn’t nature but rather _intent_ that could make the difference in behavior.

 _“Make it too easy when_ this _is what I’m workin’ with, pumpkin. Christ.”_

Everything about the way their bodies had joined and traveled from the bathroom to Link’s bed had been inelegant. Where Link’s desire had wandered and rubbed on the concealed planes of his tether’s body to implore _fuck me,_ Rhett’s misleadingly human hands had found reins in the folds of Link’s clothing—had steered and manipulated his master onto his back with an inflexible hold that snarled in response, _gladly_.

Link strains in his pants, overeager and overwhelmed at the promise of _Rhett_. His ever-present bouquet of cinnamon, smoke, copper, and honeyed liquor is an aphrodisiac worlds more powerful than it has any right to be, and not to mention—god, the _warmth_ he radiates when he’s worked up? Like he’s an animal in heat, pumping out a pheromone just for his master?

Link’s trembling for it. 

They’re delivered to the covers and Rhett shifts gears on top of him. The once-hurried touches grow slow and syrupy, palms against flashes of bare hips. Kisses leisure to dig up simpers blushworthy from Link’s throat, tongue controlled and deliberate. Rhett’s fangs are gone when his lips part on Link’s pulse point, steady breath unfurling and scalding in response to his human’s heartbeat. 

“Too gentle,” complains Link, words crushed tight while Rhett’s beard coarses his throat. The guy seems to have a vampiric obsession with surveying and staking territory on Link’s neck. “What’re you waitin’ for?”

Rhett smiles on him and hums. He pulls away with a wet _pop_ and props himself up to stare. The tugging smirk and bedroom eyes are a lethal combination. He doesn’t even need to say a word, and Link quiets for him.

Fortunately, he speaks anyway.

 _“You said you wanted me in charge.”_ So coy, and teasing, and—Christ, Rhett’s a presence. Hair already wrecked, shoulders of his soft gray shirt bulging from the prolonged push-up, that _smile._ Every inch of him is sex, and he’s not even _doing_ anything. _“Would you rather take over?”_

Fighting dizziness, Link licks his lips and tries to will some of his blood back to his brain with hard blinks. “No, just… Nevermind. I can be good,” he asserts with a squirm. 

 _“I’m not so sure you can.”_ Rhett reaches up, languid, and runs a hand through Link’s hair. It’s loving and flutters his eyes shut with a teased sigh. _“But then again, I really don’t want you to be.”_

 _This is one of his powers,_ Link decides with his last functioning neuron. It’s the only explanation for why Link’s achingly hard cock threatens to shoot off from Rhett shifting their pelvises alone—at the mere _implication_ of being allowed to have him. It’s a physical feat that he can restrain his hips from bucking up into Rhett and stealing the purchase he wants. 

Rhett’s need presses harsh against his own, present and electric enough to ignore the layers of fabric between. Fuck, he’s hard, and _Link_ got him hard, and that—is that even possible? That Link’s worthy to be taken to bed by someone who could’ve gotten his chase of choice at any party with those fiery eyes and sweet tongue alone?

If he thinks about it too hard, Link _will_ come untouched.

 _“Got a question for ya,”_ Rhett murmurs, lowering their chests together and sliding his hands under Link’s back. 

The way his fingers snake to bare flesh to grasp Link’s love handles is luxuriating and mad-driven all at once—a roiling that Rhett is somehow able to tamp down by burying his face in Link’s breast, and lord below, does Link want that dam to break. 

Rhett hadn’t been asking for permission, but Link can’t think straight enough to offer a response past, “Anything.”

 _“Wanna be good for you,”_ Rhett starts, and that alone makes Link want to scream—to wrap his arms over Rhett’s torso and grind up into him, to tell him through frustrated moans that he _is_ good enough, dammit—he’s _so_ good, how could he think he isn’t?! The lull brings the retort to Link’s lips, but then Rhett continues. _“What kind of fuck you want, baby?”_

Link’s cheeks tingle ‘til they burn.

“Hard,” is all he can clarify with the heat in his head. It’s a feat to form words under such duress. “Please. Rhett, I’m—don’t believe in blue balls, but I—I’m _dying_ for you _.”_

With a rumble and squeeze of the soft skin of Link’s hips, Rhett smiles, and while it’s nice that he's happy, would it be so hard to move his hips even a _little?_ Link _had_ used the word ‘dying’, right? Rhett had heard that? Some mercy, please.

 _“Trust me—it’s gonna be rough. But that’s not what I meant.”_ Rhett opens his mouth enough to nibble Link’s pec through his shirt, pinching small mouthfuls and plucking excited gasps from him. 

 _“I’ll be in charge either way. But I was hoping,”_ Rhett pauses to bite once more, and Link’s hands find his waist in some spiraling bid for his own sanity, _“that you’d decide whether you want to be fucked, or if you want to fuck me.”_

Link stares up at the ceiling, ‘cause the latter isn’t something he’d even fantasized about until right that second, and his brain conveniently breaks with the task.

 _“Hey,”_ Rhett whispers, gazing up at him. Thumbnails dig into Link’s hip bones and restart him with a tumultuous moan. _“You hear me?”_

“Y-You—” Steeling himself, Link forces his eyes to meet Rhett’s, and… gosh, the relief he finds there is grounding. A bit of the mania seeps away. The demon is frenzying his blood still, no doubt about it. But he _is_ his tether.

Huh. That double meaning seems obvious now.

“You wanna know whether I’d like to g-give or receive?” he finally finishes, and Rhett cocks his head with a slow nod.

 _“Happy to do either, bo. But… something tells me,”_ Rhett’s grip hardens and Link whines with an arch of his back. A grin cracks over the demon’s face and he insists a kiss to Link’s ribs. _“In your current state? Heart racing, beggin’, unable to keep still even when I’m pinnin’ you down? It’d be a hell of a lot of fun to let you take what you want from me.”_

“Oh fuck,” Link agrees. 

Absolutely unthinkable. Too tempting to comprehend with a clear head right now, but— _shit,_ Rhett makes a compelling argument, and he’s willing, too—he _wants_ that, likes the idea, and they’re still not roughing one another, and Link nods frantically, screwing his eyes near-shut. 

“Yeah. Yes, yes, I wanna feel you, Rhett.”

 A bit of the predation ebbs from Rhett’s features. He’s _blushing._

More of that. Keep going, ride that power.

“I can tell you aren’t human, Rhett. You know how I know?” Link forces the words, brings his hands to Rhett’s face, and for the first time traces his snapped horn with a barely-there finger. It must feel good; the demon chews his bottom lip and lowers his head fractionally, peering up at Link with reddened cheeks. “‘Cause I’ve _never_ wanted to wreck someone this badly. You put humans to shame. Gorgeous, and handsome, and— _fuck,_ you care about me so much? Take good care of me—”

_“Shit, bo, that’s—you can st—”_

“Wanna fill you up, Rhett. Feel how tight you are. Hear what you sound like while you’re on me. Just…” Link trails off, eyes dancing over Rhett’s scandalized features as his thumb strokes his damaged horn. Drinking in the satisfaction of rendering a demon powerless, Link swallows. “I’m gonna ruin other tethers for you, cinnamon.”

Rhett tightens around a thrilled tremor, eyes wide. _“You already have.”_

“How you intend on stayin’ in control, then, with me doin’ all that?” Link drawls, dropping his caress to Rhett’s cheek, pitying.

Rhett’s eyes close, and the next instant, his clothes have vanished, humbling Link to a choked disadvantage well before the sultry words leave his mouth: _“Gotta make sure you follow through on those promises.”_

Shivering, Link twines his hands behind Rhett’s back and pushes, rearranging them on the bed until they’re lying in a sunbeam pouring from the window. 

Rhett’s naked beneath him when Link pulls back to drink in his body. He’s _perfect—_ a figure from Renaissance paintings come to life in Link’s sheets. Sculpted yet slender. Marblesque, as if rendered by the hands of a Great. The expanse of his stomach meeting his angular hips, his long legs tangled past that. His cock rests patient and blush-beaten on his stomach. His balls—had they always been clean-shaven, or is that a choice for this moment? Either way, it stokes the fire in Link’s gut. Rhett is mouthwatering.

When Link’s fixation eventually tears from his equipment to find Rhett gazing up at him in a loose post-stretch—elbows bent, hands limp and palm-up at either side of his head—the first word that pops into Link’s head is _angel._

“Perfect,” Link reiterates for his demon to hear, and Rhett smirks.

_“You just gonna gawk at how pretty I am, or are you actually gonna do somethin’ about it?”_

With a hungry growl Link lowers himself into a kiss, which Rhett welcomes with arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him down. 

Link knows he’s trembling like the malleable teenager he is, pulse thrumming hard in each one of his extremities. But Rhett is _so eager._ His tongue works laps over Link’s, building them into a rhythm of give and take and heaving chests—and then he breaks that rhythm: nails down Link’s back; a greedy nip at his lips; an appreciative moan into his throat, candid and non-performing. Unable to handle more, Link rips away from the session and seeks Rhett’s neck with the single goal of suckling more noises from him.

As easily as if commanded, Rhett groans openly, hands zeroing in on Link’s waist and dragging their heat together under the assault. _“Anytime you wanna stop teasin’ me,”_ he probably intends on snapping, but it comes out soft, _“I’m ready.”_

“Can tell,” Link chuckles airlessly. “Can feel how hard you are, Rhett. Fuck.”

_“I mean that I’m wet for you, bo.”_

_What._

Link hoists himself up and glances down to where Rhett’s thighs meet, cocking his head with a twitch. “Pardon...?”

 _“Yeah, demons can do that,”_ Rhett grins, one fang sneaking out.

“You—you…?” Struggling to wrap his head around exactly what Rhett’s implying, Link freezes up, and Rhett saves him with a chuckle.

_“My ass is self-lubricating.”_

“G-Got it,” Link nods, glancing at the headboard. “Oh, gosh.”

_“Clear enough for ya?”_

“Yep. Understood.”

Rhett is silent for a moment, inspecting Link’s blush with tight, curious eyes. _“Y’know, I didn’t even think to ask, but it would be remiss of me not to...”_

Link’s confidence is flimsier than he’d thought it was, now put in the spotlight and weighed with expectations. Don’t get him wrong, he’s ready to do this— _wants it_ so bad he’s itching to free himself from his pants—but he’d never once stopped to question whether penetrative sex with a demon would somehow be… different? The post-arson blow job had kinda filled him with the assumption of ‘no.’

Hoping he’s not wrong, he sits back and straddles Rhett’s hips. “What is it?”

 _“You happy with this body?”_ Rhett inquires with a quirked eyebrow, too easy-going for Link’s taste.

“What?” Link glances him over. Before a critical thought passes that maybe he should shut this line of questioning down, he asks, “What do you mean?”

 _“Shapeshifter,”_ Rhett reminds him casually, eyes glinting. _“I can have any type of body you want. Anything you can think of.”_

That’s… that’s a hell of an offer.

“Rhett, I don’t—”

 _“Want my cock bigger? More muscles? Chubbier?”_ The options drive Link’s face neutral, but Rhett doesn’t stop. _“Different face? I can turn into a girl if you want.”_

Link frowns. “No! Rhett, that’s— _this_ is how I know you,” he emphasizes with a pat on Rhett’s tummy. _“This_ is the body you chose to present yourself to me in. _This_ is the body you’re obviously most comfortable in. And _this_ is the body I want you in when I fuck you for the first time.” 

Rhett flushes again, lips in a thin line, and Link chuckles at how bashful he looks.

“You heard me call you ‘perfect’ just a minute ago, right?”

 _“Just not… used to it, I guess.”_ Faltering, Rhett spares a cursory glance at the ceiling. _“What about… y’know.”_

Link doesn’t know. “What about what?”

Expression pinching in distaste, Rhett lets his head fall to the side so he can stare through the window. _“My tail.”_

Oh good god almighty in heaven, Link had _forgotten about his goat tail._ That bushy, fluffy thing that tantalizes him every goddamn time he sees it. He still hadn’t ever touched it, and he wouldn’t without Rhett asking him to, but… _fuck._ With a shaky breath, he runs a hand along Rhett’s outer thigh in reassurance. “It’s not gonna, like… get in the _way,_ is it?”

_“Shouldn’t.”_

“Keep it,” Link urges, biting off the ‘please’ that tries to slip out. He doesn’t miss the sliver of relief reflecting in Rhett’s eyes when he looks back up. 

_“Yeah?”_

“Yes.” 

The touch trailing Rhett’s thigh teases close to his blushing balls, causing the demon’s eyes to flutter shut. It’s a delicious sight, and Link’s libido returns full-force. Who knows how much longer they’ll be home alone. Without another word Link climbs off the bed and locks his bedroom door before starting on unbuttoning his pants. The metallic hushes draw Rhett’s interest and he arches into the bed across the room, focus hazed and lips parted.

He looks like a goddamned centerfold. And he’s all Link’s.

The brunet does his best to slip into the role Rhett’s so graciously bestowed upon him. He hikes his shirt up to reveal his abs with one hand, fishing his cock from his boxer briefs with his other. He’s _begging_ to be handled—for damn near any sort of attention at this point—but Link doesn’t break his eye contact with his tether. Swallowing, he tilts his head back, hoping he looks good.

“You want me, Rhett?”

Rhett sneers a playful smile, coiling onto his side. His arousal hangs heavy against his leg, and Link’s lungs stutter. _“Not as much as you want me.”_

“Fuck,” Link breathes, shedding the rest of his clothes as he strides back to the bed. “Stop being such a tease!”

 _“Only doin’ it ‘cause you’re so fun to rile up,”_ Rhett laughs, eyes creasing in mirth.

Walking on his knees across the mattress, Link’s hands find Rhett’s hips—and with them, a surging sense of power. 

No need to play nice. There never is, when it comes to Rhett. Arms straining, he pulls and flips the demon onto his stomach with a noise of surprise, dropping him heavy onto the comforter. 

_“J-Jesus, Link!”_

Rhett’s fingers dig into the blankets and a swell of satisfaction and desire plumes in Link’s chest. “Not used to bein’ tossed around?”

_“Just… guess I assumed you’re weaker than you are?”_

“Well, we’re gonna fix _that_.” Link kisses along Rhett’s spine, trying desperately to control his urge to play with Rhett’s tail. It’s perked up at the base of his spine—flared up and out of the way, just as he said it would be, and… fuck. It’s real cute.

Settling down over him, Link showers affection over Rhett’s back, taking his time. His fingers begin to explore after a solid minute of ticklish kisses—one hand is planted by Rhett’s head to brace himself, but the other cups his ridiculously perky ass and strokes. He slips down Rhett’s cleft in repeating dips that grow increasingly adventurous, reveling in the bump and hiccup of Rhett’s breathing each time he inches closer to his hole.

He’s lost count of how many round trips his fingers have made when Rhett buries his face and groans, _“Just fuck me already!”_

There it is.

Happy to oblige, Link finds his entrance and gives it a slick once-over with the pad of his middle finger before pushing in, and—short circuiting, essentially. 

Rhett is _drenched._

Crumbling and pressing his forehead to Rhett’s shoulder blade, Link trembles at the slippery warmth welcoming his digit. “Holy _fuck,”_ he all but gasps, and where normally a self-satisfied snicker would be the expected response, Rhett is instead letting soft breaths into his arms. Link can’t help himself; there’s hardly any resistance of skin snagging on skin, so he sinks his finger in as far as he can and gives Rhett a hard rub.

 _“Ahh!”_ Rhett lifts his chin to whimper at the headboard.

“Okay,” Link warbles, withdrawing his finger and inspecting the translucent lube on his shaking hand. “Okay, I—I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t just—okay.” 

_“Yes, finally—come on, Link. Tired of waitin’ on you, baby.”_

Sweltering with want, the man in question sits back on his heels and takes Rhett’ cheeks in each hand, spreading them. 

Good lord. Every inch of him really is sin embodied, isn’t it? The freckles, the perfect curves, his twitching hole.

“You—” Link knows he isn’t speaking clearly, given how racked he is. But he also doesn’t want to skip over any part of what he might need to say simply because his brain’s running on demon aphrodisiacs. “Rhett, you look _so_ good. Fucking incredible.”

Rhett angles his head to his shoulder as if to speak, but stays quiet. Link envisions him blushing all too well.

“Okay,” Link nods, grabbing himself by the base of his neglected cock and lowering his hips, pressing his angry head against Rhett’s pucker. “You ready?”

 _“Are you?”_ Rhett growls impatiently.

Link shakes his head once. “Not sure, but I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

It’s not as slow or caring or loving as Link expects it to be. Pushing past the ring of muscle is the most challenging part, but once he slips through? He’s fully sheathed almost instantly, hips flush with Rhett’s ass. A deep, full-bodied moan rings loud through the bedroom. Link isn’t sure which of them it had come from, but judging by the way Rhett gasps on the end of it, _“fuck, pumpkin,”_ it probably wasn’t the demon.

“T-Tail,” Link chokes, and somehow Rhett understands and is able to reach back and flatten it before Link loses control of his muscles and collapses on top of him. 

Head on his shoulder, arms trying to encircle Rhett’s chest (but only barely meeting near his sternum), and quaking all over, Link hums high and tries to concentrate. The very real sensation is one of Rhett pulling him in, wet and sucking and—he’s _really_ not going to last long, is he? 

 _“Y’okay?”_ Rhett asks breathlessly, one hand coming up to stroke Link’s shaggy head. 

“Yeah. S-Sorry. How… how is it?” he hazards sounding stupid.

But his tether’s warm chuckle fills the tension, softening it a bit. _“You’re really big, Link. Feel good.”_

“Yeah?”

_“Of course. Like I was made for you.”_

Link knows that’s a selfish thought, maybe even one Rhett’s giving him to feed his ego. Rhett’s his own person—has a life that stretches from the beginning of existence and will see through it until its end. But those words on his lips let Link fantasize that, _shit,_ maybe he is? Maybe he _is_ made for Link. They fit together seamlessly, he’d come out of nowhere and turned Link’s life upside down for the better. 

Like an angel.

 _Tell him that,_ Link’s subconscious nags, and he starts moving, lids weighing heavy as he slips in and out of Rhett in measured thrusts. 

“Rhett,” he says, voice clearer than his head, “I think you’re an angel.”

 _“What?”_ Rhett’s head whips to the side like he wants to glare at Link.

“Aren’t you? Technically?” Link ventures. He moves one hand to grasp Rhett’s shoulder, giving him better control—now he can guide Rhett back onto him, to meet each thrust. With a quiet swear, Link rests his forehead on Rhett’s back, only then noticing the fine mist of sweat covering them both. “You’re beautiful, and you watch over me. You’re ethereal.”

 _“Link,”_ Rhett gasps, followed by a clipped cry as Link brings him down harder. Hearing his name drip from Rhett’s throat while he’s fucking him is a lot. _“Don’t say shit you—fuck, that you don’t mean!”_

“But I do mean it, cinnamon,” Link huffs. “Wanna—c’mon, can you get on your knees?” he implores, pausing to hoist Rhett from the bed. Maybe this way he can reach farther. Go deeper for him.

Rhett obeys, muscles trembling as he props himself up weakly. On their next plunge, a sharp whine dribbles from his throat, and Link groans at the timbre and abandon of the noise. Rhett’s exactly as forbidden as Link had assumed he’d be. 

“Christ, Rhett!” Link’s hands roam for good fixture on his demon’s limber sides. “You’re incredible. Can’t believe you’d offer to shapeshift _this.”_ Power-high, Link draws back and slaps Rhett’s ass, ripping a cry of surprise from him. “Like I wouldn’t want you like this. Like you aren’t the holiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Somewhere between the deep bids for oxygen and grunts of ecstasy, Rhett begs, _“If you mean it, say it again. Please.”_

Link will say it with every breath left in this life if it gets through to him. 

“Angel,” he growls—suddenly dissatisfied, even with their hiked-up pace. Even with how natural and sublime it is to be inside of Rhett, teasing him apart with hard hits to his bundled nerves. Even having just told him he loves him for the first time. So he flips his partner again, pushing him down onto his side and exposing his miserable cock to the open air.

One thigh between Link’s, the other in his master’s hand and held up high, now Link can finally see Rhett’s face. More accurately, can lose his mind at how _gorgeous_ Rhett is when he’s wearing Link. Vulnerable and taken. Fangs peeking out, face red with it all, pupils blown into—

“Hearts,” Link observes in a shocked husky voice, and Rhett covers his eyes with both hands, wailing in shame. “No!! _No,_ Rhett, let me see your eyes,” he commands, and Rhett peeks up at him past his fingers, blushing fiercely.

His pupils are hearts. Big and cutesy and round.

_“It’s not on purpose!”_

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Link cries, effectively ruined. He vices onto the thigh at his chest and doubles down, peeling Rhett’s hands away from his face to dig into the covers with his pace. He’s getting close. “D’you have _any_ idea how much that makes me adore you?!”

 _“C-Can’t—”_ Rhett tries, but apparently he’s right. He can’t do much of anything as Link pounds into him with slick thrusts, save make pitiful eye contact that drenches Link in fresh rounds of lust.

“Rhett,” Link kisses his leg, heart hammering. “There’s somethin’ I wanna do, angel, but—”

 _“Do it,”_ Rhett nods, screwing his eyes shut, each breath a rolling moan. _“Wanna be your angel.”_

“Already are.” Link’s hand abandons Rhett’s thigh, instead fishes down to the covers and finds his tail. Just wrapping his fingers around it is enough to send absurd pleasure up his spine, so when he pulls and uses it as a means of control for fucking Rhett, and his demon’s eyes pop-open, baring green-pooled hearts to the sunlight? 

_“Fuck, fuck, Link—I’m gonna come, don’t stop!”_

It’s through sheer willpower that Link fights off his own climax, taking Rhett’s cock into his free palm and stroking in time with each tug of his tail.

Rhett’s release slams into him, piercing a wanton shout through Link’s very soul. Spurts of cum shoot onto his stomach as he writhes, whines, begs his way through overwhelming pleasure like he isn’t a fucking _incubus_ —but rather Link’s boyfriend, reduced to mewling moans and every inch as human as Link is.

“Yeah,” Link smiles, fist still pumping, chasing the feeling of Rhett clenching around him, “That’s it, angel. So good for me. I love you so much.”

 _“Y-You too,”_ Rhett pleads, sweating, breathless, and at once shaking and oversensitive. _“Come inside me, bo. Please.”_

‘Please.’

As if he needed to ask nicely.

Link gives himself over to selfishness, greed locked on Rhett’s mess and skin burning alive with the warmth he’s putting out. His horns, his pupils singing his feelings, his tail, how he’d maintained eye contact through his orgasm—absolutely unreal, every bit of it. Coaxing his nerve-endings with each mindless buck of his hips until the sight of spent Rhett is unbearable, Link trips into the white-hot, gasping.

“Rhett…!”

_“There you go. Fuck, baby.”_

Link isn’t sure what happens over the next few seconds, but when he comes to, Rhett is accepting him into his arms, easing them to the bed together. Heavy breathing (must be his own) and sticky skin. As he settles from his high, Link notes how absolutely _sweltering_ the bedroom is, and glances dizzily at the window. It’s steamed over.

“Oh, gosh.”

“Want me to open it?” Rhett offers, stroking Link’s back and holding him close.

Pulse slowing and growing content on the touches his partner has to offer, Link sidles into Rhett and caresses the far side of his crown, bringing temple-to-forehead. “Maybe… maybe in a bit,” he sighs and Rhett smiles.

“Hey, pumpkin?”

“Hmm?” 

A nap sounds nice. A dehydrated, endorphin-endorsed, post-sex nap. 

He isn’t sure he has much choice, anyway. His body’s almost shutting down against his will.

“Did you mean what you said?” Rhett asks quietly.

And Link very nearly replies, _which part?_

But laying there in the afterglow, knowing that Rhett at least cares as deeply as he does? Knowing that they’re going to be able to continue whatever weird breed of love this is for another five years? It doesn’t matter which part his tether’s asking about. Link had meant all of it.

“Yeah.”

Rhett stays silent and still for a few beats of Link’s heart, gaze on the ceiling, before pulling him into a hug and exhaling long and steady in his sweat-dampened hair.

“Thank you.”


	23. Fleeting

Feels disrespectful to be immersed in his phone while trekking through the woods. 

Sure, most people come out in nature to unplug, but most people aren’t also awaiting updates on high-interest media coverage breaking a few towns over. Link swipes down to the end of the news report, checking his battery as the screen blurs white with movement. 56%. Should be good enough for one night without a charger. 

Rhett’s hand tightens on his, leading him through the scattered trees with a judicious watch that spares him from tripping hazards in the form of fallen branches and jagged stones. 

“Does it say what he got?” 

Scanning over the article, Link clears his throat. “Looks like he was fired and the state’s pressing charges.”

“And they have no idea who the ‘victim’ was?”

“No. I guess our Uber driver either hasn’t seen the news, or maybe didn’t connect the dots? But there’s a search out: a man between the ages of 20 and 30 with black hair, glasses, and a mustache. Wanted for testimony and reparations.” Link grins and looks up at Rhett. “Told you the mustache wasn’t stupid.”

“They didn’t even get your hair color right,” chuckles Rhett, throwing his scarf over his shoulder. 

“To be fair, it’s a pretty _dark_ brown. And that just works to our advantage.” 

Link puts his phone away and sucks in a lungful of crisp November air. It’s officially cold outside. The last straggling leaves overhead tremble in the wintry whispers of seasonal gradient. With foliage dead or dying, the world is set to a filter of sepia-met-grayscale—but it’s beautiful nonetheless. The pop of color provided by Rhett’s olive-green jacket leads the way like a beacon, which Link happily follows. 

“Ahh, memories.” Rhett feigns a content sigh. “Stalking after you through the woods to catch up with your dumb ass after you paid me. Good times.”

“We almost there?”

“See for yourself.”

Lifting his free hand, Rhett points through the trees to a clearing that’s all too familiar despite the minute differences. The grass has yellowed. The bushes along the tree-line have morphed into prickly thickets without their blooms. The birdsong of wrens and grackles that had made the silence so prominent on his first visit isn’t in the air with their vapored breath.

“Home sweet home?” Link asks hopefully, and Rhett pulls a face over his shoulder. “No?”

“Let’s just get the tent set up. Pissed that you didn’t let _me_ lug it out here.”

“You’re my partner, not a pack animal. I’m perfectly capable of doin’ stuff like _this_ on my own.”

They pass the threshold and step into the clearing, with its oddly-placed miniature boulder and absolute mute. Link takes a moment to soak in everything again. Something about having Rhett there with him makes it less overwhelming this time. It’s less… all-encompassing, now that he’s not alone. Their feet crunch in the grass as they make their way to the stone.

Link grips the straps of their camping supplies and stares down at the rock. “Wanna knock and see if the new owners will let us look around, for old time’s sake?”

“Shut up,” Rhett snorts. “It’ll be a good base to build our fire on, though. I’m gonna go get some wood.”

After he slinks off in search of tinder and logs, Link busies himself getting their tent set up for the night. Difficult, pounding stakes into the ground when it’s chilly outside, but it’s not like he’d anticipated camping to be easy. The task numbs his fingers ‘til they feel like exposed bone, aching and pulsing. He’s only just getting the top of their shelter popped up when Rhett returns with arms full of fuel.

“That was fast,” Rhett nods at his work, and Link smirks.

“Didn’t feel like it. Get our fire started, Rhett. I’m freezing.”

“On it.”

It’s nice to not have to worry about matches or rubbing sticks together. Rhett arranges the pile of wood in a peak on the rock, and with a snap, it goes up like paper. The burst of white-yellow rushes into existence with a near-painful zeal before settling to a comfortable hearth, and Link sighs in relief as he toasts his purpled hands.

“Better?” Rhett asks, stepping over to the tent and giving it a half-attentive poke to test sturdiness.

“Much.”

The chewing crackle of organics reduced to ash carry them through the next few minutes, with Rhett digging in their pack and acquainting himself with their gear—most of which, he won’t need: water, blankets, and… well. _Some_ of the snacks are for him, and he’s obviously puzzled that out when he holds up a bag of spicy tortilla chips.

“This has flames on it.”

“Yep.”

“That means they’re for me, right?” He shakes the bag, listening to the contents rustle. 

“Hope you like ‘em. I’m not a fan.”

Link can’t help flashing a secret smile at the campfire. Telling Rhett to watch out for chili peppers and flames on menus and food packaging had been a good way to ensure he could navigate the world of humans with a little more ease. Make it feel a _bit_ less alien to exist in.

Contrary to Link’s expectations, Rhett shoves the snack back into the bag and plops on the hard ground between the tent and the fire with a _thump._ No need, Link reminds himself when the urge flares to fetch him a blanket. He radiates heat—a detail to look forward to come bedtime. 

“So.” Rhett pulls his knees to his chest, and Link acknowledges him with a curious stare. “We’re here. Happy?”

“You _really_ don’t feel any attachment to this place?” chuckles Link, showcasing their audience of trees.

“Why should I?” Rhett glances around, a child being shown an outdated piece of once-marvelous technology. “I still don’t get this, bo.”

“This is where you… well, I don’t wanna say ‘live,’” Link ponders, rubbing his chin. “But you stay here in between tethers. Right?”

 _“Kind_ of?” Scrunching his face, Rhett shrugs. “It’s just the portal I use, and it wasn’t always right here. Hard to explain.” 

“Wait, what?” Link’s hands drop to his sides. “This tunnel, like… jumps around?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. Okay.”

“What, you thought I’d been working exclusively in North Carolina the past thousand years?” The amused sneer on Rhett’s words tinges them hurtful.

“I mean… kinda? I dunno, you never mentioned being anywhere else.” Link kicks a foot back and digs the toe of his shoe into the ground, twisting it in place. “You never really talk about your life, Rhett.”

“Not much of a life,” Rhett states absently, and Link’s stomach sours. “Not thrilled talkin’ about my experiences, believe it or not.”

Link watches him. Doesn’t miss how Rhett’s gaze fixes on his feet. 

Resolve renewed, he unfurls one of the blankets from their supplies and spreads it on the unforgiving earth beside him, taking a sprawling seat with a grunt. 

“You don’t _have_ to, but I’d like it if you did.” Link scratches his cheek. “Tell me stories, that is.”

Huh. Asking for campfire tales from a demon. If he didn’t care about said demon deeply, this would be a great cold open to a horror movie.

Rhett shifts, stretching his neck like he’s trying to pop it. “Nothing interesting. Don’t have any insight I can bestow upon you.”

“I still wanna hear ‘em, Rhett.”

“Why?” he warns, patience wearing thin on the subject. “You think it’ll be fun, bringin’ that shit up? You dyin’ to hear ‘bout how I made a whole village sick for a week over territorial disputes?”

There isn’t a response Link’s shock can give fast enough, so Rhett plows on. 

“No? Alright, then maybe I should recount the story ‘bout burnin’ crops so the poorest in the community couldn’t eat? Or the time I murdered an entire family just ‘cause my tether thought they _might_ pose a threat to his influence? No matter how much I tried to assure him they didn’t?”

Throat drier than justifiable by camp smoke, Link stutters. “Rhett, I-I didn’t—”

“We can talk about it, Link.” Having cut him off, Rhett holds his attention and lets his anger fizzle into a set frown. “But you’re askin’ me to tell you about the worst things I’ve done. _That’s_ my existence—I hope you realize that. My entire life— _all of it,”_ he sweeps his arms broad, like he’s holding an invisible load, “is an endless nightmare I’ve had no say in. _Every single memory_ I can share with you is a bad one. I’m a demon. It’s what I do—all I’ve done.”

Effectively shamed, Link sinks his teeth into the soft of his inner cheek and stays quiet. 

It isn’t that those things hadn’t crossed his mind before; Rhett had claimed that he was a tool for use by those wicked enough to employ his services… but not even a sliver of happiness therein? Chained like an ignored dog, kept nearby and expected—perhaps _commanded_ to remain silent and dutiful? Link’s gut flips and he hugs himself.

“Not tryna be difficult, pumpkin.” Rhett sounds tired now. “Just bein’ honest. If you’re still interested, I’ll tell ya. But… I don’t like talkin’ about it.”

“No,” Link agrees in a whisper. One hand slips out and lands on the blanket between them, palm-up and waiting. Without a word, Rhett takes it and laces their fingers together. 

Warm.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Know it must be weird...” Rhett hesitates, hiccuping on his word choice. “ _Being with_ someone who has nothin’ tangible to offer you ‘bout where they come from.”

‘Loving’ someone, is what Rhett had nearly said. Link can feel it.

“Should’ve given it more thought.” Link squeezes their hands and gives a weak smile. “Yeah, let me bring up traumatizing shit you had to do _over and over_ again. That’ll be a good time! Gosh.”

At this, Rhett actually chuckles, and it eases Link’s heart.

“I guess… I guess I just feel like I don’t know a lot about you, sometimes,” Link thinks aloud, eyes losing their focus in the fire. “I know your full name. I know you’re powerful. I know that you like smoking and drinking. And that you’re suave around others, for sure. I know that you like spicy and sweet foods and playing dress-up games on your hellphone—”

 _“Hey!_ Those are just to give me ideas for my own outfi—”

“Oh! I also know that you like rock and metal music. I know that you think the ocean is breathtaking, I know that you hate education—”

“Just in regards to how modern education is _structured_ —”

“I know that you have trouble differentiating between reality and fantasy when we watch Netflix,” Link laughs, shaking his head. “And that you always get surprised when a cat or dog can sense your presence.” He pauses, and when he glances over at Rhett, the demon’s wearing a goofy, crooked smile that says _and…?_

“What?” Link asks, smirking.

Rhett rolls his eyes in good humor. “Dummy. You know _tons_ about me. Hell, that’s more than _I_ knew about myself.”

The pair dissolve into light laughter that mingles pleasantly with the fire’s hiss and pop. Riding the spell, Link leans over and rests his head on Rhett’s shoulder, soaking in the refuge he offers from the cold.

Time slows. The smell of woodsmoke and spice perfume the air, intoxicating and calming. When Rhett pulls their hands apart to slip his arm over Link’s shoulders, the brunet closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, pumpkin.”

“Still feel weird sayin’ it?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait.” Link’s body tenses at a thought. “It doesn’t _hurt_ you, does it…?”

“Nope.”

“...Rhett?”

“It’s worth it.”

“Oh, fuck! Are you kiddin’ me?!”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not intense pain.”

“It still hurts you though, right?”

Rhett rubs Link’s far arm. “Not enough to stop me.”

“But… I don’t want you to—”

 _“I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you,”_ Rhett drones into his ear, racing Link’s heart and drawing him to sit up straight with an injured blush.

_“Rhett!”_

“Pain’s just a side effect of existing,” his demon promises, nonplussed. “I’m used to it.” When Link simply searches his face with a frown, Rhett shakes him gently. “Now, I _believe_ this is the part where you say it back.”

“I love you too, you maniac,” Link mutters, returning his head to its resting spot. “That’s still gonna bother me though. Don’t like it when you’re in pain.” He doesn’t notice it at first, but gradually Rhett’s cheek flattens his hair, and he eases his weight to rest on Link’s, calming and soothing.

“Is it… is it better?” Link asks. That’s vague as is, so he tacks on a few more hints. “Here, than it is below?”

Rhett hums. “You’re asking if I’m regularly in more pain in Hell?”

Tapping their shoes together, Link nods timidly. Probably not the best idea to delve into Rhett’s past again, but he knows that _Rhett_ knows it’s just morbid curiosity. How often do humans get to ask about the boogeyman of religion and get an honest answer?

“Ehh. It’s pretty consistent everywhere. Hell’s just unpleasant in general, though.” Rhett lets out a single puff of amusement. “Probably an understatement.”

Link isn’t religious. Never had been. 

But having proof of an afterlife of sorts—whether it actually had anything to _do_ with faith, or if perhaps it had existed long before the construct of man-made religion, and the occasional bleed-through between worlds had inspired the phenomenon for mortals? No matter which color glasses Link views it through, it’s… terrifying. Hell is real. His demon is proof.

“Hey,” he tries breathlessly, and Rhett’s head twitches against him in interest. “What’s, uh. What’s it like there?”

A tender sigh trickles down his locks before Rhett responds, voice kind. 

“Mm. You definitely don’t have to worry about that, Link.”

Truthfully it’s the best answer one could hope for. So why does it nauseate him?

Darkness falls, ink seeping in and encroaching around their huddle. The campfire splashes them in fleeting waves of light, burning above the burning.

“Are you mad that I wanted to bring you back here?” Link ventures further, eyes flicking over to Rhett’s slowly rising and falling chest.

“‘Course not. Maybe a little confused, but… I think I get it now.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Silence settles with the dusk, and for a long while, they simply sit and bask in the glow of the flames. Every few minutes, Rhett can’t seem to resist passing a barely-there kiss to the top of Link’s head—and the fourth time he lifts his cheek to do so, Link tilts his head back and requests their lips meet. Rhett obliges with a warm-eyed smile. 

Eventually, Link considers bedtime, enticed by the promise of curling up under the stars together and holding one another until they drift off. 

But his train of thought derails when a sound at the edge of the clearing rings out—paired with a shadow bouncing through the darkness. Heart leaping into his throat, Link instinctively hugs Rhett as the thing closes in on them.

But Rhett just laughs. “Hey, it’s you!”

The cat. _The_ cat.

It steps into the light with a friendly mewl, eyes large and green and begging for acknowledgment. 

Link’s mouth falls open, ‘cause not only is it _here,_ and _wants_ to be loved, but—Rhett had greeted it like he recognizes it? 

“Rhett, you know this cat?”

“Well, yeah.” Their bodies untangle and he holds out his fingers to beckon it closer. The feline doesn’t wait. It trots over and sniffs his offering before smearing its maw down his hand, revealing a row of sharp teeth with the pull of skin. It’s _scenting_ Rhett.

“Explain?” Link asks in a stupor, watching the pair. This might be the first animal Rhett’s interacted with in front of him? And he’s doing it with practice.

“S’my helper,” Rhett grins, withdrawing his hand. But the cat rushes forward to close the distance between them and crawls into his lap, curling into a prompt ball of black fluff and yawning from the warm.

_“What?”_

“Oh. Another language thing, huh? Uhh.” Rhett whips out his hellphone and types around for a few seconds, pointer finger held up in a request for patience. “Here it is: _familiar._ Interestin’. Never heard that one before.”

Is Link’s head rolling away? 

“You have a _familiar?_ ”

“Yeah. You _can_ still see her, right?” Rhett asks sincerely, pointing at his lap, eyebrows tied in concern.

“I can, but—I thought that was a witch thing from fairytales. You never mentioned it! I feel like I should know that you have a _pet,_ Rhett. _That’s_ a pleasant memory, isn’t it?”

“Whoa, whoa—not my _pet,”_ Rhett sternly corrects. “This cat has a family somewhere. She’s _their_ pet. She just helps me out.”

“With what?”

Rhett stiffens, looking away for a moment. “I mean… you remember, don’t you?”

Remember what? It had been months, and Link hadn’t seen this cat once since the day he’d met Rhett. Since the first time he’d ventured into these woods. Since—oh.

_Oh._

“That cat _lured me here?!”_ Link cries, leaning away from the pair.

Blank-faced, Rhett stares at him. “How did you think humans normally stumbled across portals? Usually humans track black cats when they wanna hire us. We ain’t exactly supposed to be easily found. Even demons need help sometimes.”

“I—that cat— _it tricked me!”_

“What?! No! It’s not her fault you dunno about demon lore! You’re the one who followed her here and hired me!”

At a loss, Link scans his brain for the right comeback—for the proper indignation. Ultimately, he gives in to the exasperation that it _doesn’t matter,_ and his hands hit his thighs with an exhale. 

“Fine. What’s her name?”

“Dunno,” Rhett admits, the corners of his lips tugging down as he gives her a scratch under the chin. “She’s nice though.”

“...Yeah,” Link relents, slumped forward and staring at them in the camplight. The places on her coat that catch the most light gleam soft brown. “Cute, too.”

“You should pet her.”

Well. At least _that’s_ something Link doesn’t feel conflicted about. He reaches for the kitty, hand pausing to let her sniff him. When her head ducks in disinterest, he strokes her from neck to tail. Like down feathers. Hard to feel misled by such a sweet thing.

“Why haven’t you _given_ her a name?”

“Best not to get attached to things that die,” Rhett shrugs. 

In the lull that follows, the feline’s purrs roll through her ribcage—in and out with respiration and heartbeats of a tiny body impermanent to this world—and Link grows cold, despite everything. 

He seeks Rhett’s hand and ignores the ice spreading through his own ribcage. 

“Think she’ll sleep in the tent with us?” he asks in a suddenly hollow voice, fighting off a package he can’t unwrap—and Rhett’s head snaps up to look him over.

“Y’okay, pumpkin? Heart’s racing, but… you’re really pale.”

Maybe he’s not, but Link isn’t about to ruin their evening by opening a conversation he _knows_ won’t have a happy ending. So he lies.

“Yeah. I’m just tired.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Rhett doesn’t believe him. His face says as much, but he tightens his grip on Link’s and nods. “Let’s sleep, then.”

“Cool.” Link stands and stares at the fire like he knows how to put it out, securing his hands on his hips to glare at it with a creased brow.

“Link.”

Rhett’s gazing up at him when he turns.

“Yeah.”

“I love you,” Rhett reminds him with a hopeful smirk. 

A bit of the tension in Link’s shoulders slips away, and he considers his tether on the ground with a furry friend in his lap.

He tries to ignore how natural Rhett looks, illuminated by fire.

“I love you too.”


	24. So Long and Good Luck

_Link,_

_Sorry, sweetheart._

_We know we said we’d be home in time for dinner, but something came up last minute, and it looks like it’s going to run long. This could be a huge sale, and we know you’re probably sick of hearing that. We’re sick of saying it._

_Left money for delivery under the key bowl. Treat yourself to whatever you’d like._

_We’ll be home as soon as we can._

_We should talk soon._

_Love you,_

_Mom & Dad _

“You could fill an album with those notes,” Rhett mumbles with a scratch of his head, peering over Link’s shoulder at the scrawl. 

It’s true. Link doesn’t even need to read these little yellow stickies anymore to know what they say.

“Whatever.” Slumping their camping pack to the floor, Link lets his attention jump around the kitchen. Coffee. Or tea. _Something_ warm to shake the chill from his bones. He runs testy thumbs over his temples in a massaging sweep before grabbing a mug from the cupboard. “You want a drink, Rhett?”

“No.” He’s still re-reading the note. Picks it up and waves it at Link. “But if you’re ordering food, I’d like something.”

“Fine. We’ll get Thai.” It’s not intentional, the force with which Link fills the mug at the sink and dumps it into the single-serving brewer. He roughs a random tea bag out of the wicker basket beside it—Earl Grey—and throws it into the mug before punching the machine to life.

“Whoa,” mutters Rhett, letting the note fall to the counter and kicking their backpack aside. He spins and rests his waist on the edge of the counter, crossing his arms to watch his human. “Link?”

The brunet doesn’t look up from the mug, as if willing the hot water to boil faster and _pour_. “What.”

“You mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“‘Cause your parents ditch you more often than not?” Rhett asks back with a scoff. “You’ve been actin’ weird since last night, bo.”

Link’s jaw tightens. The tinny trickle of his mug gradually filling grates on his already-frayed nerves. It’s too bright outside, and the ‘spacious’ feel of the kitchen his parents had so obsessively prided themselves on reflects it on every stupid surface. He’s cold, and tired, and hadn’t slept well in the tent last night despite Rhett being there to warm him, and frankly he could quantify in bitten fingernails how much he _doesn’t_ want to expend energy unpacking their things. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Rhett states with a calm shrug. “Look, I’m not sayin’ you have to be in a great mood all the time. But you’d at least tell me if something was bothering you. Right?” He pushes off from the counter and paces over to Link patiently. “Maybe I can help.”

Dammit. 

He’s too sweet.

“Honestly? Yeah, I don’t feel great. I’m sick of those stupid notes, even if I’m out a lot, too. At this point I _assume_ Mom and Dad aren’t gonna be here when I come home. I’m exhausted, and just—whenever I think about what I wanna do for the rest of the day? The only answer I can come up with that doesn’t make me want to curl up and die is ‘smoke weed and relax.’” Link swivels to face Rhett, hackles softening. “And maybe take a nap with you?”

“Whatever you want.” A large hand finds Link’s upper arm and strokes the length of it. “Though, none of that explains why you got all weird last night. Did I say something?”

Relenting, Link closes the distance between them and lets his neck go limp, forehead meeting Rhett’s chest with a _thud._ “I don’t like that it hurts you to tell me you love me.”

There’s a beat of silence before Rhett sighs. “I can’t change that. And you don’t have to worry about it. It’s not so bad.”

“I’m also… conflicted about the cat,” Link admits, though that’s the half-truth.

It hadn’t been the cat. 

It had been something now only half-formed in his memory—as it would stay. The more he thinks about it and tries to collect the exact phrasing, the sicker he feels, and in turn, grumpier. 

“The cat?” Rhett rumbles, quiet and curious. “You mean the cat without whom, we never would have met?”

“Shit. I didn’t mean it like that, Rhett.”

“No, I know. Listen to me.” 

With a steadied touch, the demon finds the underside of Link’s chin and requests his head tilt back, zipping their gazes together. What’s written on Rhett’s face is raw and gentle, and Link knows he must be grimacing in comparison. Waiting for the ax to fall.

“I wasn’t talkin’ about _you_ last night _,_ pumpkin.”

Link’s defenses crumble further. “I know you weren’t.”

“But it probably put some unpleasant thoughts in your head. Yeah?” Rhett beseeches, and Link closes his eyes and tenderly nods.

“I’m mortal, too. I’ve got an expiration date.”

“You do.”

“So you shouldn’t grow attached to me. I’m gonna die. It’s only gonna hurt you. You shouldn’t love me.”

“Too late, dummy. Think I didn’t consider that long and hard the entire time you were wriggling under my skin? Think your mortality’s deterrent enough to stop me _now?”_ There’s a soft laugh and Link’s nose is poked. “Tell that to literally everything about you.”

Warmed with a blush, Link reopens his eyes, and Rhett’s waiting to catch them. He smiles and crooks down to deliver a murmuring kiss to his tether’s jawline. 

“You won’t live forever, but that’s okay. Just makes what time I have with you more special.”

“So… assuming we… y’know.” Link can’t get the words out from sheer embarrassment, but Rhett’s unbothered and blinks, bemused. Link finds an easier way to say it: “You'd be happy with _maybe_ fifty years of this? When that’s just a road bump for you?”

“I mean, you’re discountin’ the fact that our contract also expires, and that’s much, _much_ sooner.” 

Miraculously, Link had neglected to consider their contract in regards to everything. 

And Rhett’s right—that timer is only _five_ years long. 

“Wait, what happens when the contract is up? Can I hire you again?” Link asks, gaze skittering over Rhett’s.

“I go back to Hell,” the demon states, cocking his head to the side. “You can _try_ to rehire me _._ It’s definitely not a guarantee I’d be the one who returns to you, though. There are lots of demons looking for work. And that den in the woods might relocate… so…”

 _“Everything_ is circumstance?!” Link wails, and Rhett’s eyes widen in surprise. “It’s just _coincidence_ that _you_ came out of the tunnel?! I could’ve gotten anyone?!”

“See? Lucky.”

“H-How do I extend your shift? Pay you more?” Link’s already reaching for his wallet when Rhett pats his shoulders abruptly, brow pulled taut in pity. 

“Don’t work like that. When our time’s up, it’s just… up. It’s over.”

Cool.

“How— _what?_ How are you so calm about this?!” Link’s voice breaks, and he frowns hard at the white tile beneath his socked feet. “Mortals and death and no ‘ever afters’ and being torn apart with no guarantee of ever even _seeing_ each other again?”

“That’s my life, Link,” Rhett supplies, and a chastised glance up confirms his injury, like a punch to the gut. “That’s what I get: little pieces of things that don’t quite form a whole. But they’re still the closest to a good ending that I’ll ever have. And I have to be okay with that.”

Link is officially the biggest asshole that’s ever lived.

“God dammit, Rhett.” Embracing defeat, Link pulls him into a hug which Rhett happily returns in doubled force, tail swishing. Even if he’s not bothered any longer, Link still needs to say his piece. “I’m sorry. I really love you. It’s just… scary. There’s a lot of red tape that two mortals together wouldn’t have to worry about. And to know it’s not going to last forever…?”

He swallows, placing a poor bet on it damming up his tears.

“What am I gonna do without you? We’ve barely started our contract and already you’re… like, integral to me. You’re more a part of myself than _I_ am.”

“We take it one day at a time,” Rhett mumbles happily, exploring Link’s back with affirming strokes. “And I believe today, you were gonna drink some tea and take a nap with me?”

It’s as good a place to start as any. He’ll have plenty of time to panic about losing Rhett later. Why sully the now?

Hell, maybe they can look some stuff up on Rhett’s hellphone. How to make a tether permanent. Rhett hadn’t known about the sight bite details, after all—there could be other stuff he doesn’t know about, too. 

Yeah. They can fix it. Find another loophole. Love triumphs all obstacles. 

Link implores away from the hug and collects his well-steeped tea. “Actually, I think I’ve changed my mind about what I want to do today.”

“Oh?” Rhett’s smirking again, and it makes Link’s heart kick against his ribs. The guy’s _entirely_ too cute when he’s happy and piqued. If he ain’t careful, Link’s gonna get that tail. “What are we doin’?”

“I need to check my syllabi,” Link decides, removing the tea bag and tossing it. “I have… a _ridiculous_ amount of catching up to do.”

“You mean for school?” Rhett asks breathlessly, and Link spares him a timid look paired with a nod. 

“Yeah. Been away for more than a month. If I don’t go back and beg for forgiveness now, it’ll be too late. I wanna graduate college.”

In the successive stillness of the decision, Rhett watches Link. It starts slow and low—a deep inhale that begins in his stomach and balloons up, swelling his chest and goading him to roll his shoulders back with a fang-bare grin. “Well _alright then!_ We’ll figure out how I can help you in the classroom.”

“No cheating, though,” Link warns with a finger, and Rhett bows his head obediently.

“No cheating.” 

Link brings his mug to his lips with a smile just before the doorbell chimes.

The tethers simply look at each other until Link shrugs and sets down his drink, and Rhett falls in line behind him on the way to the front door. Hard to feel threatened by any mystery visitors when you’ve got a supernatural bodyguard lurking nearby. One that loves you, to boot.

Standing on the front porch are a man and a woman. A spike of panic flares in Link’s throat at the thought that _shit,_ are these off-duty cops? But they aren’t dressed the part in casual business wear, and Link _knows_ the woman.

“Doctor Dreyer,” he acknowledges, blinking and leaning against the frame.

“Hello again, Link.” Does she sound different? It’s been a while, but Link could have sworn that the last time they’d spoken, her tone had been saccharine and nurse-like. Now, it’s clipped and professional, each word stepping on the heels of the one before it. “It’s nice to see you. This is Mister Ryan,” she showcases the $200-haircut man to her right, who straightens to regard Link. “He’s on the board of directors for NC State.”

“Oh,” Link says, because that’s all he can honestly think to say. Stumbling to catch up, Link offers his hand. “Nice to meet you. Sir.”

Mr. Ryan shakes the salutation with a kind smile before slipping his hands into his pockets. “Mister Neal, we stopped by because we haven’t been able to contact you by phone. Best not left to voicemail, either.”

“Ah. Sorry… about that.” Good. Bumble through this like the idiot he feels he is. “None of us are very good at… answering calls,” Link winces, knowing how that sounds. “Uhh. Would you like to come inside?”

But Mr. Ryan shakes his head knowingly. “That’s alright. This won’t take but a minute. Doctor Dreyer and I are simply here to tell you that your academic probation has expired, Mister Neal, and that unfortunately, you have been expelled from North Carolina State.”

_Expelled._

Link’s attention splinters to the porch boards, instant and stunned. But they don’t wait for it to soak in, and Dr. Dreyer picks up the explanation.

“We know this is probably hard for you to hear, but at this point we believe it is in the best interest of both the university and yourself to part ways. I know you had some… _extenuating_ circumstances, surrounding your attendance. But grades are also counted, Link. There was only so much I could do. We’re sorry. And we truly wish nothing but the best for your future endeavors.”

When Link can’t find any words to give them, Mr. Ryan clears his throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, son—”

“Wait!!” Link reaches out as if to grab his shoulder, but recoils at the flash of indignation on Mr. Ryan’s face. “I-Is there any way I can get back in? Can I take remedial courses, or re-apply, or…?”

“I’m afraid not, Mister Neal,” he replies briskly, easing back a step. “Our expulsion policy is strict. And frankly, I would be surprised if any other commendable universities would take your application seriously, were they to see that you had been expelled so soon after starting your _freshman_ year.”

He waits, like Link could possibly know how to respond to such brutal sincerity.

Eventually, Mr. Ryan offers, “You can always pick up a trade, or work your way up from the bottom at any number of companies. No degree required. Perhaps you can discuss options for your future with your family. Surely they knew this was coming, with you home so much?” 

But he _hadn’t_ been home. 

His parents _thought_ he’d been going to class this whole time—not traipsing around to do drugs and commit crime.

Jesus. His life had derailed in a snap, hadn’t it?

Or maybe it had been derailing this entire time, and he’s only now noticing the wreckage.

“We’re so sorry, Link,” Dr. Dreyer concludes with a pitying frown, and just like that, they turn and leave the ex-student speechless, standing in the doorframe.

A gust of biting air shivers him to his senses enough to close the door and lean back against it, staring into nothing. 

Rhett’s there, of course. In front of him. He’s wringing his hands over his stomach and watching patiently, and Link knows he should say something. Anything, to assure him that it’s going to be alright. That he can be happy after this. That his parents aren’t going to deem him an irredeemable failure the second they learn how badly he’s fucked up. That he has even the slightest idea of what to do with the rest of his life. That his potential hadn’t been stolen by the ring of a doorbell. 

Cringing, Link drops his head to the side. “Rhett—” 

“I’m sorry.”

Link snaps his eyes up to a Rhett that’s in outward conflict with himself. Face pinched and distraught. Fingers white on themselves. Shoulders trying to reach his ears. 

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” Rhett pushes out quickly, transferring the anxious twist from his hands to the hem of his shirt. “It’s my fault. If you’d never met me, you would’ve stayed in school. I’m the one who goaded you into doing things you didn’t want to, who distracted you, who—”

If nothing else, the kiss evicts the ill-fitting guilt from Rhett’s face.

Link’s hand finds Rhett’s nape and presses there, palm warm and soothing. On both ends, the turmoil numbs down to a grateful spark of something calmer—and when Link breaks and renews the kiss, Rhett meets him pound for pound. 

A touch runs up through Rhett’s hair and toys with his locks, finding a new home on his cradled skull as Rhett’s arms fall in place over Link’s shoulders, right where they belong. Neither shy away, lips emphatic for one another and looping on a series of _you’re okay—we’re okay._

Very much alive, Link slides his hands down and holds Rhett’s face, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. 

“It’s not your fault.”

_“You’re going to be okay.”_

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

_“This doesn’t make you a failure.”_

Hot exhales mingle until the pair are sufficiently sedated from their panics, and Rhett takes it upon himself to turn the affection into a hug, which Link accepts gratefully.

_“Okay. So…  what’s your plan, baby?”_

Link latches onto his partner with a fervency that makes him feel even more childish than his next words: 

“I have to tell Mom and Dad.”

_“Okay. I’ll be there with you. Right at your side. It’ll be okay.”_

“God, I hope so.”


	25. Please Put Down the Shovel

It’s one thing to sit and wait on a couch to have what’s already shaping up to be an unpleasant conversation. It’s another entirely to be wholly physically uncomfortable while doing so.

Link’s stomach rumbles as he affixes his gaze to his hands in his lap. The Earl Gray he’d prepared is long-since cold, probably near the still-packed bag of camping supplies abandoned in the kitchen. He’s hardly breathing, tired of warring with himself over whether he should bother hiding the evidence of where he’d been last night.

Not like it would make much difference now. Not when his parents are about to find out everything, anyway.

Rhett sits, chagrined, on the far side of the couch, in a spot that no one in the family favors and thus is probably safe territory for watching this unfold. Link can’t see him well out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t need to. Can sense the discomfort and yearn to touch from where he is. 

‘No’, Link had insisted. He doesn’t deserve to be caressed for this. Expulsion is the repercussion of his actions, and he _needs_ to acknowledge and internalize it—to feel guilty and not have a security blanket for facing his parents. 

This is his punishment. It’s going to be one of the hardest things he’s ever done, and he realizes that, and can handle it. Unpleasantness isn’t a death sentence. If only his stomach would unknot and heart rate would ease up.

“‘M so nervous,” he whispers, and Rhett hunches forward into his periphery.

“They’re still gonna _love_ you, Link.”

“Maybe.”

He knows Rhett’s right. Doesn’t feel that way, though.

A plane goes by overhead, cutting through the silence that even his breath dare not break. Almost like a prelude, the rumble of it burgeons and spreads thick just as the front door unlocks, and Link tenses. Every limb locks up, knees crushing together. He sits up straight, wanting to look like he understands the weight he’s carrying.

 _“Stay strong,”_ Rhett reminds him in tandem with his father calling out, “Linkster? We’re home, bud!”

“H-Hey guys,” Link fumbles to begin, stretching a smile on and clasping his hands over his thighs. “I’m in here.”

Each tick that passes where he can envision their dress-down ritual—blazers off, keys set in the bowl and shoes removed and dusted off by the door—is hell. Time crawls to a drag, leaving Link’s throat parched and sore like torn paper.

His dad appears first, head poking in from the foyer with an unaffected smile. “Hey! I don’t smell food, did you order anything?”

“No,” Link responds warily, watching as his mother joins him in the threshold and fluffs out her hair. She gives Link a curious look, and just like that, it begins.

“What are you doing, hon? Just sitting here?”

There’s a pressure in the back of Link’s head. It seeps along his jawline to meet his ears, squeezing, gripping hot, yet his chest is mired in ice as he finds the words he’d rehearsed earlier.

“Actually, I need to talk to you guys.” It’s a shaky start—literally. The tremble of his voice matches the quake of his fingers when he offers the space across the coffee table. If they stand and have the higher ground, maybe they’ll go easier on him. 

Or maybe it’ll backfire and they’ll just yell down at him.

Heart hiccuping, his parents enter the room in curious measured paces and still at the referenced spot. Dad—jovial as ever—elbows Mom and leans to mock-whisper loud, “I think we’re in trouble for bein’ out past curfew.”

Ignoring him, Mom’s face riddles with concern as she examines her son on the couch. 

“Is everything okay?” Then she instead opts for, “What’s wrong?” 

Severity borrowed from his wife, Dad stands at attention and crosses his arms.

The script Link had prepared conveniently flits from his head under their gaze.

“I, uh… I need to tell you something,” he prefaces carefully. Rhett is watching, and knows, and Link could swear the emotional manipulation is turned back on, because he can _feel_ how much Rhett wants to reach out and touch him—to embolden him to disappoint his family. But he’s steadfast on that front, and—squirming—forces himself onward. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Is it about school?” his father guesses, and Link operates in slow motion when he takes his time to nod some seconds later. “Okay, well, what about it? You know we’re here for you, Link.”

“That’s right,” Mom cuts in, sparing a supportive glance at Dad to say _good parenting._ “Whatever you need, sweetie, we can help. I know the university offers tutoring courses, we’ll pay for those if you need. Did you fail an exam? Struggling with one of your classes?”

“Surprising.” With a shift of his feet, Dad steals Link’s chance to grab control of the conversation, digging further. “In high school your grades were spotless. Thought you said you felt pretty good about how things are going?”

“Not the time,” Mom warns, lowering both her head and voice to her husband. She clears her throat and smiles kindly at Link again. “College can be difficult, but it’s your job right now. We want to see you graduate and land a good career, sweetheart. You really have to give it your all.”

Dizzy, Link nods. Words are lost—crushed out by the commandeering narrative of his parents. “Right.”

 “So that’s it, then? You failed a test?” she offers, and.

That’s just it.

He can’t do this.

“Yeah,” he breathes, ignoring how Rhett whips to look at him from the far end of the couch.

_“Bo.”_

“I failed a test.” The reiteration is definitive, and Link shakes his head in a mixture of relief and self-disgust. “Can’t believe it. I just hate lettin’ you guys down.”

“Sweetie, it’s okay!” his mother chirps. She makes her way to the arm of the sofa and sits beside him, scratching his back through his shirt with her nails. Goosebumps rise on Link’s skin; the action isn’t nearly as comforting as it usually is. “I am worried, though—what happened?”

“Yeah, your mother tells me you’ve been acting weird lately.”

“Charles!”

“What? That’s what you said! I’d bet anything it’s related to this,” Dad huffs, gesturing at Link. “We’re not mad, kiddo. We just want to know what’s going on with you. You’ve been distant lately. At first we thought it was just college taking up your time, but—something tells me that’s not it.”

If Mom wants to defend Link from further questioning, she doesn’t. Instead she seems just as (if not _more_ ) curious, and turns her expectations on him, still rubbing his shoulder blades.

Link chews his inner lip, picks and tears at the abused skin there with antsy teeth before pushing the first truth that comes to mind out of his mouth.

“I have a boyfriend.”

At this, Rhett stands—a symptom of shock with nowhere else to go. Link can’t look at him, knows what he’s doing is insane, even without reprimand.

_“Link.”_

“What?” his mom asks, her strokes stilling. 

“Really?” Dad wonders, eyebrows lifting high in surprise.

Everyone in the room has their attention on the prodigal son, and it’s a familiar feeling. One Link wishes he could get used to. But it’s worse now than it had been in any given recent memory. These are the people he loves most in the world—yet this intervention manages to be a thousand times more intimidating than strolling into a freshman mixer or basement party. This is his _family,_ and they aren’t going anywhere for the long haul.

“I’ve a boyfriend,” he repeats listlessly, glancing up at Rhett.

His demon’s hands are balled into fists at his sides, and he’s watching Link down his nose as a teetering emotion shimmers in his eyes. Regret? Fear? Or perhaps—given the way his cheeks rosy with each passing second—embarrassment? Could be all three. 

It’s a dumb title, _boyfriend,_ and one that doesn’t cover the bases of _whatever the hell_ his and Rhett’s arrangement is. This weird, necessary, business-oriented-but-pleasure-caven-in rollick. The inseparability, the getting on each other’s nerves, the irresistibility of touch that Link is missing something fierce right now. 

Finally, his thought is broken by Mom’s pondering. “That’s… that’s _great,_ sweetheart.”

“Huh?” 

“Yeah!” Dad chimes in, grinning. “You met someone, eh? Someone who clicks with you well enough that you’re getting _distracted?_ Ha! I know that feeling,” he laughs, but a withering stare from Mom humbles him in the slightest. “Not good, gettin’ distracted. That part’s bad. But I’m glad you’ve made a connection with someone, bud!”

“Yeah,” Mom agrees, smile softening. She runs a hand through Link’s hair, re-styling it the way she does sometimes for her one and only. “Is he handsome?”

“Uhh… yeah,” Link nods, blushing and trying to ignore the silent turmoil Rhett is going through just to his right. The guy’s looking everywhere but at the sickeningly-sweet Rockwellian scene. “I think he’s gorgeous.”

God, Link is going to get an earful the second they’re alone. 

Not only had he missed the point of the family summons—a painful topic he’d no doubt have to revisit later under even worse circumstances—but he’d essentially admitted to goofing off with Rhett in the process. Outed himself as someone who’s rarely alone, in some capacity.

Great.

“Well that’s wonderful, sweetie. Look at this,” Mom laughs, ending the maternal touches with an encouraging pat on his nape, “you came to us thinking the world was gonna end, and instead we’re happy for you! We’ll help you fix your grades, honey, and maybe you and this new beau should find a less detrimental pattern for hanging out?”

Possession, fires, shoot-outs? If she only knew how right she is. 

“Thanks,” Link nods, finally allowing a sickly smile in the wake of cautious optimism. He’d gotten away with it, it seems. At least for another day. 

He can come up with a better reason. A way to lessen the blow. Maybe make it seem like choice instead of failure. And in the meantime, he’ll apologize to Rhett for chickening out when he was supposed to be strong. Not like Link isn’t disappointed in himself, too.

“So,” Dad clears his throat, and Link looks up to find that unabashed grin flying like a flag on his face. “When do we get to meet him?”

Oh, _fuck._

How the fuck had Link forgotten that potential pitfall of the alibi?! The realization must be clear on his face, thanks to Rhett slicing through the silence,

_“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ wondering that, too!!”_

Link swallows and feigns a laugh through a huff. “Soon. Promise.”

“What’s his name?” Mom asks, and Link’s brain kicks into overdrive.

It follows the train of thought in hiccuping jumps that refuse to breathe life to the reality that his parents are unaware of. It rushes along without him, leaving him in its dust, and in much the same way that a doctor might hammer a nerve on a knee, Link is hardly in control of his own mouth after the synapses have fired and supplied him with a name that sounds weird on his tongue in response:

“Jake.”

“Jake,” Dad repeats, and Mom offers him a conspiratorial giggle and wiggle of the eyebrows.

But Link doesn’t register their childlike joy. His eyes are locked on the coffee table. If he moves them—which he won’t, he _can’t—_ it would be to snap up to Rhett, whose arms have gone limp at his waist. Whose shoulders have sagged just a bit at the wrench in direction. Who’s standing there, motionless and wordless, and whose certainly- _something_ gaze Link is too terrified to meet.

A phantom needle of guilt finding Link’s stomach and crooking into it bids him to hold his gut with just-there fingers.

“Well, you should invite Jake over for dinner sometime, sweetheart.” Mom stands from her perch and sighs loudly, resolving the Neals’ meeting and announcing that their chat is officially over. “Maybe this weekend? We’d love to meet him. Anyone you’re enamored with has _got_ to be a nice person.”

Link isn’t so sure about that. Namely because he isn’t even sure _he’s_ nice anymore.

Throwing his demon under the bus to protect himself. Rhett, whom he’s in _love_ with.

“Sure.”

Eager to get out of the living room, he stands and wipes his too-sweaty palms on his jeans. 

“I’m gonna… go study,” Link states, and he’s leaving to grab his camping pack and head to his room while his Dad lauds _that’s the spirit._

Link had started this conversation in the acceptance that he was going to hurt his parents. He had ended the conversation with the burdensome knowledge that instead, he’d hurt Rhett. And the confirmation comes in the way his demon doesn’t move when Link heads for the stairs. 

It’s only when Link pauses at the bottom step and looks back at Rhett imploringly that they make eye contact. 

His face is neutral. Vacant. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares, bored and calculating, and Link glances beggingly up to his room.

Without as much as a nod, Rhett follows.

 

* * *

 

They’re alone not thirty seconds later, and Link braces for yelling that never comes.

When he drops the bag and turns to gaze up at Rhett—standing just behind the now-closed door to their bedroom—he expects to find a scowl. A deep, disapproving frown that puts him in his place long before the fangs are bared. But Rhett remains a blank slate, meeting Link’s eyes with all the energy of someone freshly woken from a nap.

“So,” Link starts lamely, rubbing his arm and cocking his head to the door. “That… didn’t go the way I wanted it to.”

“No?” Rhett asks, eyebrows raising.

“Of course not!” 

Hard not to feel injured by the game Rhett’s playing, giving his human the floor. Letting him walk himself through his own mistakes simply ‘cause he can. Link hadn’t wanted his help before, and he certainly wouldn’t get it now. Hell, maybe if he _had_ held Rhett’s hand for the talk... 

“Shit. I’m sorry, Rhett.”

“Don’t apologize to _me,”_ Rhett shrugs, a bit more fire behind his words. “I’m not the one who has to live with the repercussions of your lies. _You_ are. You should be apologizing to yourself. Your parents think you’re still in school. That you have a boyfriend.”

“I know,” Link assents with a tired sigh. He looks into Rhett’s chest, anchoring there and considering the new web he’s tangled in. “I mean… at least it’s only a half-lie. Right?” he asks hopefully, daring the edge of a smirk—trying to find the humor in such a catastrophic outcome.

“Last time I checked, Jake wasn’t your boyfriend.” 

Rhett’s words are level and low, and they successfully nick Link’s heart. With a groan he leans forward, pressing his forehead to Rhett’s chest.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I get it.”

Does he? Timid arms trail up on either side of Rhett in silent request for a hug. It takes a bit longer than it perhaps should, but eventually Rhett relents and brings his embrace over Link’s shoulders. It’s weaker—more lackluster than Link had been hoping for.

“You know I can’t say it’s you. I couldn’t give your name. That would open a can of worms I literally don’t know how to deal with.”

“Yep.”

“I just said ‘Jake’ because… I dunno. He was the first person who popped into my head.”

“I know.”

“I—” Link hesitates before squeezing the hug, burrowing into Rhett’s warmth. “I wish I _could_ introduce you to people. Or at least talk about you freely without people thinking I’m insane and need to be sent away somewhere.”

“Well,” Rhett muses, tone even, “instead you get to bring Jake over for dinner. Won’t that be fun? You like Jake well enough.”

“He’s okay, I guess.”

“Like ‘im enough to claim him in my stead with no hesitation.”

 _There_ it is.

“Rhett, I said I’m sorry, okay? I panicked. Wasn’t thinking clearly.” Link pulls back to search Rhett’s eyes, which only drop to him after a few seconds and are darker than he’d anticipated. “You know I love you, right? You’re my demon. Couldn’t get away from you if I tried.”

For a long while Rhett doesn’t say anything. The silence congeals and coats the room as Link waits, and the pleading smirk on his lips falls when he realizes its effect isn’t transferring the way he wants it to. Rhett is statuesque and calm, and when he eventually speaks, it feels definitive.

“You’re in a hole right now, pumpkin. If I were you, I’d march right back downstairs and come clean. But that’s not how you operate.”

Link is sick of hearing Rhett say that—’cause he’s always right, and it always hits too close to home. Link is a spineless coward when it comes to others.

“So instead, I suggest you reach out to Jake and ask him if he can pretend to be in a relationship with you for a while. At least in front of your parents. At least until you can fake a break-up.”

That’s…

That’s really smart.

“Wow. Good idea,” Link mumbles, and Rhett snorts.

“What d’you mean, ‘wow?’ Jackass.”

The insult flushes a pang of affection through Link’s chest, because he _is_ a jackass. Rhett doesn’t deserve to stand and watch as Link not only humiliates himself with his weak constitution, but then erases Rhett under someone else’s name. 

Fuck, what a shitshow.

“I love you,” Link repeats. He brings a hand to Rhett’s face and strokes his cheek in the same way he’d learned when their partnership had been new, and the deliberation of it makes Rhett’s eyes sink shut.

_“I know you do. It’s okay. I love you, too.”_

“I appreciate you. I’m trying to be better.”

Finally, a small smile cracks over Rhett’s features, and he hums contentedly. His eyes open on Link’s, and he slips his grips to his mortal's waist.

_“Hey—you wanna light that Mister Ryan guy’s lawn on fire?”_

“No! ...Maybe. We’ll see.”


	26. Invitation

“This is so fucking awkward.”

Link is stretched out on his stomach in his and Rhett’s bed, basking in the trace of the lazy finger on his bare back. The lower half of his face is mashed down into a pillow, over which he stares at his phone in his slack hands. Rhett watches silently on his side, one arm propping his head up to track the text window with Jake’s name at the top. 

They’d put this off as long as possible—instead spending the last two days lying low and trying their best to enjoy one another’s since-tightened company. Several times, Link had entertained the idea of trying to go out and find another person who needed justice brought down upon them… but with the magnitude of his expulsion hanging over his head, that wouldn’t have felt right, and Rhett must’ve known better than to ask for it. He hadn’t pressed.

Time is up. It’s now or never.

“He’s gonna say yes,” Rhett offers boredly. “He thinks you’re cool.”

 _“What?_ Why?” 

How could _anyone_ think Link is cool?

“Last time he saw you, you were throwin’ back drinks and owning the room. Had Missy wrapped around your finger. He was impressed.”

“Oh. Right. That wasn’t me, though, that was _you.”_

“In your body,” Rhett shrugs, fanning his fingers up through Link’s hair. The brunet isn’t quite used to being lulled into a trance with possessive pets like some kind of lapdog, but it’s nice. Probably similar to what Rhett feels when he’s touched. “They didn’t know the difference.”

“Ugh. You wanna write the text for me?” Link smiles, letting his temple fall to the pillow so he can enjoy Rhett’s calm features.

“Not particularly,” Rhett smiles back. “Bozo.”

“What if he freaks out? What if he’s a giant homophobe or somethin’?” Maybe if he glares at the screen long enough, time will skip ahead and this whole ordeal will be over and done with. “I should just tell my folks we broke up. Tell ‘em I wanted to focus on school, so I ended things.”

“Yeah… those sickening lovebirds _definitely_ wouldn’t make a massive deal out of you ending a relationship where you seemed so happy. Not like they fell in love in college and want the exact same thing for you or nothin’.” Despite having proven his point, Rhett closes his eyes and slips into a falsetto that sounds not one shred like Link’s mom: _“Oh, honey, no! This is all our fault! Here, give me your phone. I can call and explain! Where does he live? Let’s drive there now, I’d like to meet his family. I can apologize!”_

“Okay, okay! Yeesh.” Eyebrows knit on the Rubix cube of a text he’s composing, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy this.” His thumbs shiver over the on-screen keyboard, and he passes an exasperated grimace to Rhett. “And don’t ever imitate my mom again. Weird.”

Rhett smirks as Link begins typing with uncertainty.

_Hey Jake._

He sends just that, and Rhett snorts. 

“This is gonna take a while, isn’t it?”

“Hush. I wanna build up to it. Can’t come out of the gate with somethin’ like this.”

Perhaps it won’t take as long as Link had secretly been hoping—Jake responds instantly, and Rhett leans in so close that Link has to elbow him away to see.

_hey man! good hearing from u after u ghosted at halloween. whats up_

Shit. That’s right, he’d totally vanished without a trace last time they hung out. Hopefully that wouldn’t sour the request.

_Not much. Sorry about that._

_I’ve got a uh. REALLY weird favor to ask._

“Good. Scare him right off the bat.”

“Rhett, I’m—will you _hush?”_

 _bet its not as weird as u think it is_. _need another purchase?_

_Prepare to be wrong lol. Nah, I was actually wondering..._

_So. Storytime: I’m in trouble with school, and I kinda told my folks it’s because I have a boyfriend._

Immediately after hitting send, Link regrets it. He slumps his face into the pillow and tries to find the soothe in Rhett’s patient strokes on his back. The lapse in response time isn’t reassuring; the phone doesn’t buzz for a solid thirty seconds, and when it does, the text is short.

_oh. okay_

“Oh my god, he hates gay people,” Link mumbles through a squint, and Rhett gives him a pat.

“You haven’t even asked him yet. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

 _“Thanks,_ matchmaker.”

_Well… now they want to meet him. Have him over for dinner this weekend. And I uh. I kinda panicked and said YOU were my boyfriend._

_wow._

_Sorry! First name that popped into my head, honestly._

If the earth could open up and swallow this entire bedroom, that would be great. “I don’t suppose you have time-traveling powers, Rhett?”

“You’re so dramatic. Let him react. You _knew_ this would be a lot—take your medicine.”

Another text comes in, and Link can’t bring himself to read it. “What did he say?” he asks the bedstuffs. 

“Hmm. He hates you.”

Link’s eyes snap up.

_no, i get it! thats fine man. im actually flattered_

“Rhett!!” Link feigns a punch to the shoulder as the demon snickers.

_so... when should i be there for dinner?_

The tethers’ play-fighting stops, and Link regrets that Rhett has a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. Undoubtedly he can feel Link’s pulse kick up a notch, or maybe he can even see the blush on Link’s face—but those things don’t mean anything, honestly. They’re just physical reactions to someone being open to helping in such a fucky situation. Open to pretending to be with him.

Still, he curls into himself marginally and shrugs Rhett’s touch off, typing.

_You’re really okay with it?_

_of course. i like you, man_

“What does _that_ mean,” Link wonders aloud. He can practically feel Rhett roll his eyes while he hashes out a series of safe replies.

_We don’t have to touch or anything._

_They’ll just assume we’re shy around them or something_

_And it’s just this once. Promise_

_hey, whatever makes it believable. im not bothered_

_wouldnt be bothered even if we had to touch_

“Well _I_ would be!” Rhett snaps humorlessly, and Link pulls away to look at him. 

“We won’t, Rhett. It’ll be okay. I don’t want that either.”

Angular pupils casting between Link and the text, Rhett debates with himself, and it begs Link to continue.

“Are you sure _you’re_ okay with this, Billy? I don’t have to do it. I can still say ‘never mind,’ I guess.”

“No—I just…” With a wince Rhett shakes his head, lips taut. “Don’t like the thought of anyone touchin’ you. I’m fine. Can control myself.”

Judging by the way he can’t meet Link’s gaze, it might not be the truth. 

Link leans over and kisses him, catching him off-guard and melting the hard lines of distaste from his face. It’s meant to be a peck, but Rhett grows eager quickly, leaning into it and continuing the moment whenever his human tries to break away. His lips part and an arm encircles Link’s back to pull him in, which only makes the smaller one break out into giggles.

“Rhett, I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”

_“I know.”_

“Just—” Link sidles back and gives him a good-humored huff before nudging his glasses up. “Not right now. Soon, though?”

Face drawn, Rhett looks him over with low-lidded eyes. _“Fine.”_

With a pin in that, Link sends off the next text.

_Dinner is this weekend, Saturday. 7pm._

_Any food allergies?_

_nope. ill be there! send me ur address_

_Cool. Thanks for helping, Jake. Means a lot._

_no problem man._

_maybe after u can help me with something too._

Well, how the hell is Link supposed to say no to that when the guy is saving his ass? Frowning, he writes.

_Yeah, sure._

“Good guy,” Link decides warily, clicking his phone off and setting it on the bedspread. 

_“Mm.”_

Returning his attention to his _actual_ person of interest, Link finds him very much a kicked puppy. His shoulders are hunched high, the hand in his hair is pulling locks tight, and he still hasn’t managed to rip his gaze from the phone.

“Hey.” Link shifts onto his side to bring their chests together, tanning himself on Rhett’s warmth. “I love you.”

 _“Love you too,”_ mumbles Rhett, sparing his attention to Link’s face. It helps a bit, visibly. 

“I’m sorry about all of this.”

_“I know.”_

“I don’t like Jake.”

_“It’s fine if you do.”_

“I—what?” Bringing a hand to rest on Rhett’s ribs feels natural in response to such a bizarre confirmation. “Rhett, I don’t.”

 _“But if you did, it would be fine, is all I’m sayin’.”_ Rhett’s demeanor is steadfast as he takes in Link like a book, skimming over the important parts and coming back up with a soft breath. _“I’m not here forever. Remember? You shouldn’t postpone other parts of your life because of me.”_

“That’s—don’t be ridiculous,” Link whispers, belying his racing heart. Just the thought of trying to forget about his companion and move on—it’s a nightmare in itself, but especially _while he’s still here,_ in the same bed and touchable and loving? It’s numbing, and turns Link’s lungs so white-hot that he isn’t sure his next words will survive the burn on their way out. _“You’re_ my life, Rhett.”

The demon’s eyes widen and color flushes his cheeks, and Link silently curses at himself; too intense. Like a wedding vow. Jesus.

“I mean… I care about you a lot, alright? Don’t want anyone else. Not gonna do anything to hurt you.”

 _“Demon,”_ Rhett reminds him casually. _“Used to hurt.”_

Amazing, how Rhett can waffle between protectiveness and detachment like that. Where’s the snarl at the thought of others touching his human?

“Not with me, you shouldn’t be. I don’t want you to be ‘used to it.’ I want you to put your foot down when you’re uncomfortable. Tell me it _wouldn’t_ be okay if something like that happened.”

Rhett observes him, listless. _“Is that a command?”_

“No. But… just...” Hesitating, Link shakes his head briskly and brings them together in a hug. “You’re being ridiculous.”

 _“Not trying to be. Just being realistic. What if you miss out on your life partner because of me? Don’t get distracted.”_ Link opens his mouth to rebut, but Rhett tacks on, _“I already got you kicked out of school.”_

Where the fuck is the comfort present with touch? Why isn’t it making either of them feel better? 

Frustrated, Link presses his lips thin and rolls onto his back, pulling hard on Rhett’s shoulder. He drags him and redirects his demon to lay on top of him, noting the return-to-life of his limbs and muscles as he releases a shaky breath into Link’s hair. Link lets his hands roam, up the slope of Rhett’s shoulder blades and into his hair, coaxing his head down for a kiss.

At the contact, Rhett reactivates in a sense. Finds his greed. His hips press down and part Link’s thighs, crushing a stuttering gasp from him, and from there it’s downhill: Rhett kisses him on a hungry loop, claims him with too-harsh fingers on his hips and neck, devolves into seeing how prettily he can make Link answer his call. 

Between their familiar lips and dancing tongues, Link breaks and mumbles into their sweat, “You didn’t get me kicked out of school,” which makes Rhett rumble.

_“I absolutely did, but I’m grateful that you don’t think so.”_

“No—Rhett, I—”

_“Hush. Just keep kissing me.”_

So Link does, hoping he can convey through friction what Rhett doesn’t want in words.


	27. Deal with a Dealer

One more glance at his phone confirms the time—6:50pm—along with another unread message from Jake:

_leaving now. be there soon_

Another flourishing turn this way and that in the mirror showcases a Link as ready for this as he’ll ever be: his pressed green button-up complements his eyes nicely, his hair is clean and feathered dry, his bow tie is finally on straight, his glasses are clear of smudges, and just for appearances (or scents?) he’s dabbed on a bit of the expensive peppery cologne Mom had given him for Christmas last year. Ignoring the tightness of his stomach, he flashes his reflection a timid smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“How do I look?” he asks the bathroom, and Rhett leans in the doorway to wrinkle his nose.

“Fine. Smell kinda weird, though. Don’t smell like yourself.”

“It’s a perfume,” Link states, tugging at his cuffs.

“I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry. We can take a shower tonight, if you want. I’m gonna take one regardless. Have the feeling I’ll need it.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Rhett scoffs, face pinched, and Link levels him in the mirror with a look.

“It means I’m gonna _feel dirty,_ Rhett. I’m not happy about this either. Will you ease off with the pissy attitude?”

“Ugh. What do you want me to do during family love hour, anyway?”

“I dunno. Play on your hellphone?” Link turns and closes the distance to the door, taking in Rhett’s hardened features. “Don’t fixate, okay? This is an act. _Jake_ knows it’s an act. It’s just dinner. There’s gonna be some uncomfortable questions, and we’re gonna eat, and then it’ll be over. I’ll tell Mom and Dad we broke up sometime next week, and this’ll be something we can look back on and laugh at. ‘Kay?”

“You tellin’ me, or yourself?” Rhett sneers, but before Link can react, he brings his hands to his face and rubs vigorously. _“Shit._ I didn’t…” He sighs, peering through his fingers. “You’re _my_ tether. You get it, right?”

Yeah. Link does. This can’t be pleasant to watch, given how innately protective Rhett is.

“I do. It’ll be okay though. No need for nastiness.”

“I know. I’m—”

“But don’t apologize!” Link blurts, thrusting a finger in Rhett’s face to cram the words back in. “No extra pain or stress for you. Not tonight. Tonight is heads down, get through this, then it’s over. Yeah?”

“Yeah… yeah,” nods Rhett, finding a kernel of something that straightens him to his full height. “You’re right. You look real nice.”

“Thank you.” Link smiles and finds that it’s real. Riding that, he bobs up on his tiptoes and gives Rhett a kiss on the cheek that brings out his demon’s crow’s feet pleasantly. “Let’s go wait for him to get here.” He slips past Rhett and through his room, pausing at the open door to the hall to look back.

“I know it’s painful, so… Rhett—don’t say it back, but I love you.”

Rhett stares at him and the corners of his mouth turn down in disquiet.

“I know you love me, too,” Link adds for good measure, and that’s enough for Rhett to hit the lights and follow.

They walk with purpose downstairs and pass through the kitchen, where Dad is finishing up dinner—spicy creamed chicken and mushrooms over steaming white rice. The smell makes Link’s mouth water, and he briefly raises his eyebrows at Rhett. The guy’s trying to peek over Dad’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of what could make such a tantalizing chili-pepper bouquet. 

“I’ll try to make sure you get some leftovers,” Link promises quietly as they head to the front door.

There are headlights in the driveway when Link checks the window, and whatever anxiety he’d successfully tamed through self pep-talks over the past few hours comes surging back, fresh.

Get into the right mindset, then: Jake is his boyfriend. He’s dating Jake, and things are getting serious enough that he’s falling behind in classes. Put it out of his mind that Jake’s a drug dealer, and that largely the times they’d hung out had been at parties where either one or both of them hadn’t been totally put-together. 

Boyfriends. Everything’s fine.

A car door slams, and Link counts the seconds until he hears footsteps on the porch, wishing he could hold Rhett’s hand.

The doorbell isn’t even done chiming when Link opens the door and greets Jake with a smile. “Hey.”

“Oh!” Jake grins, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Just texted you. Didn’t think you’d be waitin’ on me.”

He looks… nice. Thoughtful, considering Link hadn’t given him a dress code for tonight. Perhaps he should have, though, since he’d worried about his own appearance. Jake’s wearing a military-style coat that’s open to reveal a patterned sweater free of lint. He’s got on jeans, but they’re nice—dark, no rips—and shoes that look brand new. The gaudy boldness of his plugs has been toned down to a simple black.

“Come on in,” Link steps aside and bows an arm, and Jake does, noticing the pile of shoes and taking it upon himself to dress down from his winter wear and sneakers.

“Is that him?” Mom calls from somewhere, and not a moment later she rushes through the foyer, giant smile plastered on her face. “Jake! So nice to finally meet you.” When she opts for a hug instead of a handshake, Link wants to die, but Jake gives him a smile with sparkling eyes over her shoulder. “Welcome! Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Thank you,” Jake nods, meandering after her into the living room. “Wow. You have a lovely home.”

Well shit, _that’s_ gonna bag him some bonus points. Right on cue, Mom chirps, “Thank you! We try.” 

If Jake’s not careful, Link’s _parents_ are gonna fall in love with him, too. As if reading his mind, Jake spins on a heel and flashes a winning grin. “Too much?” he whispers.

Link can’t help chuckling. The guy’s being a good sport.

“Nah. Thanks for doin’ this.”

“My pleasure,” he says with a wink charming enough to make Link glance at Rhett, and—oh, gosh.

“Rhett, stop that!” Link hisses once Jake’s wandered out of earshot, and his demon relaxes the snarl from his lips with an innocence that suggests he hadn’t realized. 

True to her word, they’ve only been making small talk about the dropping temperature outside and what Jake studies and where he lives when Dad beseeches them to have a seat. Not that they’ve never had a guest over for dinner before, but having the usually-empty spot at the table occupied tugs at Link’s heart. Hard not to wish Rhett could sit there for meals.

Dad serves up the plates while Mom gets the drinks ready, and napkins go in laps unprompted before Jake clears his throat.

“Thank you for having me over for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Neal.”

“Oh, please, dear,” Mom begs, flaring a hand at him. “Call us Susan and Charles. No need to be formal here. Just think of us as family.”

That’s a lot. Too, too, too much, Link thinks with a burning face as he slices through a cut of tender meat on his plate. “S-Sorry I didn’t introduce you all sooner,” he offers to the conversation, and Dad chuckles.

“It’s alright, bud. We get it—parents are embarrassing.” 

“Surely they’re not talking about themselves?” Jake asks Link in a loud hush, and both Mom and Dad eat it up in titters. 

Jake certainly knows how to put on a show. It’s… almost off-putting, how naturally this is coming to him? Not that Link had assumed he _wouldn’t_ be good company around his folks (there’s a certain hospitable charm that bleeds down in southern generations), but he’s doing it so effortlessly. If Link didn’t know better, he never would have guessed that Jake sells drugs on the side.

Maybe that’s an unfair assumption, though.

Link stuffs a morsel into his mouth and casually leads his eyes to Rhett.

He’s… fine? Standing there near the kitchen island, not saying anything. Arms crossed and stock-still. He latches onto Link’s attention like a life raft though—stops frowning quite so hard.

Everything is fine. It’s all going according to plan. It won’t get more intense than this, and then it’ll be over, and it’ll be funny in a few weeks. Deep breath.

“So,” Dad dabs at his mouth with a napkin, “how did you two meet?”

 _Shit,_ why is Link _always unprepared_ for these sorts of lies? First with ‘when can we meet him’—and _that_ should’ve been a lesson in planning ahead. How hard is it to have some _god damn foresight_ and make sure there aren’t any holes in an alibi?

Rhett waves, grabbing his attention. “Got it, tell ‘em that you—”

“It’s actually a funny story,” Jake starts, and Rhett falls back into silence, hand dropping to his side to listen. “I was waiting for my philosophy class to start, and I was listening to music on my phone. Link was passing by, and his elbow hooked the cord of my earbuds…” He pauses to laugh for emphasis, adding a thrill of realism to the false recollection. “Had to walk with him for a second before he understood what was going on. Started talking about music, and… gave him my number.” Jake punctuates the tale with a smile that lights up his entire face, like he believes it wholeheartedly. 

God, _Link_ almost believes it wholeheartedly. Jake is really giving this one-hundred percent. Which, he never had to. It’s hard not to appreciate, Link decides, nodding in amicable agreement and busying his mouth with a drink.

“That’s such a meet cute! Like something out of a movie,” Mom sings, clasping her hands together. “And how long ago was that?”

“Hmm, what was it—about a month and a half?” Jake asks Link with a furrowed brow, and Link can only nod again. He feels useless letting Jake carry everything for him, but he’s doing a great job. Well-trained in deception. “Can’t believe it’s been so long already. Time flies when I’m with you.”

Link burns, perfectly in tandem with his father remarking to Mom, “Well ain’t that the sweetest?”

“Wow. It really sounds like the two of you have just… hit it off. That’s great,” Mom agrees. “We’re happy for you both. Please, don’t let us stop you from being yourselves. We are fully supportive and know that you’re both adults.”

Link’s stomach vaults over itself. He picks at his rice with a fork, appetite lost.

“Well,” Jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t want to _embarrass_ him, or anything.”

“I’m—I’m not embarrassed,” Link decides quietly, throat coalesced into a lump. 

He’s not. Really. 

Jake’s doing this out of the kindness of his heart, and he’s exceeding at it, to boot. Link’s parents are beaming because they assume their son has found _that special someone_ and brought them to dinner for the first time. They think it’s going splendidly. Sure, these things gnaw at him and do nothing to hamper the guilt.

But by and large, Link feels the worst about Rhett.

‘Cause he’s right there—still, gaunt, and watching. His pallor’s gray and sickly, eyes are weak and lifeless. The beginning trickles of the corpse he’d become at the police station are etching into his features, turning him a gargoyle to stand guard over a family dinner he isn’t invited to. 

It should be Rhett in Jake’s seat. 

But that won’t happen. Ever. 

And _this_ is the life Link’s parents want for him. This is the life _he_ should want. Instead, the man of his affections is waiting and wilting, and it’s irrevocably Link’s fault.

Nothing can be done, though. Not right now. And the sinking acknowledgment tears Link’s stinging gaze from his demon as he shovels more food into his mouth for lack of palpable action. _Don’t look up._ There’s a problem there, but it’s fixable, and won’t do anything but cause panic to pay him any mind.

Soon. Soon, he’ll whisk Rhett up to his bedroom and make everything better.

For the rest of the meal, Link slips back into his role as dutifully happy partner on repeat. Answer a question, smile, check out for a few minutes while Jake carries the conversation with charm and eloquence, and jump back to the beginning of the loop whenever he’s addressed directly. It works, for the most part. Once or twice, Dad has to repeat himself to grab his attention, but Link apologizes on each slip up, citing fatigue.

“Yeah, you must be tired—eager to get away from the table, huh?” Dad teases around the rim of his glass, and Link balks.

“What?”

“Wanna go spend some time with Jake?” Mom supplies with a laugh. “We get it. We’ll take care of dishes. You two can go.”

“Actually,” Jake says, only when she’s finished speaking, “I have to go home. Lots of homework tonight. But I’m sure Link will walk me to my car.” The expectant look he gives elicits an automatic nod from his ‘amour.’ “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

“Oh!” Dad chuckles, grown-man-turned-praised-student. “Well, anytime, Jake. It was lovely to meet you.”

In a fog, Link stands and follows Jake to the front door. Only when he’s standing in the driveway does he come back online to the scene before him: Jake leaned back against the driver’s side door of his car, arms crossed, wearing a shit-eating smile that all but screams _you owe me._

Maybe it should send Link straight back into near-sickness there on the lawn, but… Jake’s right. He’s fucking _nailed_ this. Link does owe him.

“I—I can’t even _begin_ to thank you enough, Jake. You really saved my ass,” he mutters, wary that somehow his parents might hear despite the brick between them. But when he turns and glances at the curtained windows, all he sees is the shape of Rhett looming immobile on the porch. He front-faces to expedite the goodbye. 

Jake shrugs with a smirk. “Was actually a lot of fun. Not often I get to pretend like I give a rat’s ass about school.”

“Right.”

“So… there _is_ something you could actually help me out with,” Jake drawls, tilting his head to the side in invitation. “If you’re free tomorrow. Or whenever. Soon.”

“Uhh…”

God, after tonight, Link doesn’t want to do _anything_ except take care of Rhett. Though at this point, returning the favor is almost an obligation, isn’t it? Besides—the sooner he gets the IOU out of the way, the less time he’ll spend worrying about it. 

“Sure. Tomorrow’s good.”

“Great. Come over to my place whenever, make sure you’re ready to spend a bit of time there. Just shoot me a text when you do.”

Easy enough.

Jake fishes his car key from his pocket and unlocks his ride, popping the driver’s side open and ducking in. Just before sitting, he stops and comes back up, leaning over the door. “Also. I’m flattered that you, uh… remember.”

Ironic, that Link has no idea what he’s talking about. The vacant stare must give him away.

Jake laughs softly and motions to his neck. “The bowtie?”

Link’s fingers find it absently, brushing the ribbed fabric in wonder.

“Pretty sweet that you wore it for me. Didn’t think you’d taken me seriously when I complimented it at the mixer.” Then Jake winks—a practiced, fleeting gesture that Link isn’t sure actually happens. 

Judging by the heat blooming in his neck, he hadn’t imagined it.

He doesn’t have a good excuse for why he watches Jake’s car until it turns a corner and blips out of view. Everything’s just… dazed. He needs a shower and a good night’s sleep. And to spend some time with—

“Rhett!” Link breathes, spell finally broken. He jogs to the porch.

He’s there. In a sense. 

Physically, he exists. Lithe and statuesque, eyes sunken in and silent. He takes up space, Link confirms with a tentative touch on his muscle-gnarled arm. Tight and towering and pulled inwards in a permanent recoil. Hard to see his pupils in the dark, but Link searches for them all the same, palms cupping his cheeks. 

“Hey—are you okay?”

The only answer Link gets is in the form of a single nod, and he swallows.

“Come on,” he begs.

He’s briefer than he should be with his parents on his way to his room, but manages to thank them for playing good hosts and endures a further thirty seconds of gushing approval before he slinks away. 

At least tonight is over. At least now, it won’t ever have to happen again, and come a respectable amount of time, Link can tell them that they had broken up. And that he’d then failed out of college. Hell, maybe the breakup would make it more believable. Stress, and all.

 _Selfish,_ Link chastises himself when he shuts the door behind Rhett. 

“Hey—look at me.” 

He can’t get to Rhett’s side fast enough, can’t produce the aftercare his demon desperately needs fast enough. His tether’s eyes are unfocused and drift about the room in a thick fugue. Hands on his hands are no good, hands on his shoulders no good, hands on his cheeks. 

“Rhett, look at me,” Link thinks to command, and the lamp-lit pools of black lock onto him like a lighthouse in a storm.

“There you go. I’m here. It’s over, yeah? No more of that. We’re alone.”

Each word serves to ease the strain from Rhett’s face. As Link continues—heaping it on and stroking the color back into his cheeks—he grows more and more aware. Blinking more, shine returning to his eyes. Taut muscles unraveling and finding the correct way to behave. 

“That’s it. You did a great job tonight, Rhett. I’m really, really proud of you,” Link murmurs for him. He pulls them into a hug that Rhett returns weakly, re-learning how to use his limbs for affection. “I feel awful that I put you through that.”

Rhett doesn’t say anything. Maybe he can’t.

“The entire time, I was thinking about how much I hated it.” He probably doesn’t need to hear this part, but Link needs to say it. Wants to admit it to him. “I kept wishing I could introduce you to my parents like that. Let them see what a wonderful person you are, and how charismatic and lovable you are.”

The grip around Link’s lower back tightens. Just so, but it’s there.

“You won’t have to do that again. Okay? I’m sorry that you had to in the first place. This whole thing was my fault.” 

Rhett’s not recovering as quickly as Link wants him to—maybe skin-to-skin contact again? He slides his hands up the back of Rhett’s shirt, suppressing a grateful shiver at the warmth and welcome of his flesh. He rubs, pressing his mouth to Rhett’s neck and humming gently.

“I love you. If you want to, you say can it back this time. I’m sorry I stopped you earlier.”

Rhett grunts. 

Link can feel his fingers twitch to life on his hips, the immense effort it takes to return the embrace and take a shakingly deep inhale of his hair. 

Whatever he needs. Link hopes his scent is comforting—hopes the shampoo and cologne isn’t _too_ overbearing. 

Their hug doesn’t let up. Link won’t let it.

After a near full-minute of silence, Rhett’s chest rumbles, and his words crackle into existence like he hasn’t spoken in eons, throaty and ragged.

_“L—love y-you, t—...I love you.”_

“I hope that wasn’t too painful. You aren’t well right now.”

_“No.”_

He’s getting better. This is the right track, anyway. Why hadn’t Link made it a point to ease him back to normalcy after the station incident? They’d been in an Uber, but. Still. You’d think a demon master would be better at this. Link would think so, anyway.

“Let’s go take a shower. Yeah?”

 _“Lied. To me,”_ Rhett says.

And although Link’s sure he hasn’t lied about anything, it doesn’t stop the sensation of his blood running like sour acid.

“What…?”

 _“Said I. Wouldn’t h-have to do it. Again.”_ Rhett trembles, and Link cradles the back of his head, gluing his gaze to the dark window. _“Heard you talking. Goin’ to Jake’s tomorrow.”_

Throat dry, Link slides his attention to the freckles on Rhett’s nape in the low light. “You… you don’t have to stay in the same room as us? I don’t know what he needs help with, but—”

Against all odds, Rhett hisses. It’s a feral, loud shrill that chills Link’s bones and makes him hug Rhett tighter—seeking protection from him _through_ him, heart skipping a beat.

Raw fear. It’s not something he’s felt because of Rhett in a long, long time.

 _“I’ll be there,”_ his demon warns, and Link’s breath shallows under their sustained embrace. Of course jealousy isn’t going to be a subtle color on his tether.

“Okay, Rhett. Everything’s g-going to be fine. Let’s take a shower, now?” he begs, voice small and skittish. “Please?”

After another tensing, Rhett stills and slumps his head on top of Link’s. 

“Your heart’s racing,” he observes quietly, the boil underneath gone.

Link can’t think of anything to say.

Maybe he doesn’t _need_ to say anything, though, since Rhett rests his lips on Link’s crown in a long kiss. Feels like forever before he speaks again.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin.”

“I-It’s okay,” Link mumbles. 

Amongst the things Link knows he’s growing used to lately are the numerous heavy silences that have pockmarked the past few days. This one is no exception—but to say that he’s accustomed to the consequent uncertainty and dimmed headspace would be a lie. Does Rhett feel it, too? If he earns comfort at their touch, does he experience the discomfort of their hesitation with one another?

If he does, he doesn’t let on. But his tone is reserved and monitoring when he states, “You should go take a shower.”

The tightness of their connection delivers from their embrace, transferring into Link’s chest and sinking.

“Okay.”


	28. Little Human

Link’s already come to terms with the inevitability that today is going to be awful, so the cold-shoulder treatment is fine. 

Understandable, even, since the very last thing Rhett wants to do is be around Jake again. But that doesn’t mean Link has to subject himself to the biting silence, right? It’s Rhett’s choice to be pissy about this even though he doesn’t even have to _do_ anything except behave. Link’s the one who has plans he doesn’t want to follow through on. No point in being a martyr for Rhett’s foul mood on top of everything else.

When Jake’s house comes into view, he pulls out his earbuds and shoots off a text.

_I’m here._

Coiling the wire around his phone and pocketing it, he spares a glance over his shoulder at Rhett, who looks the same as ever in his black hoodie and jeans. Today he has undone suspenders hanging to the side of each thigh. Looks nice. But he knows he does—otherwise he wouldn’t have chosen to do it. So Link doesn’t need to say it.

When he catches Link staring, he looks away just as quickly and crosses his arms.

That’s fine, too. He can pout.

He stays a good few feet behind Link as they cross the front yard of Jake’s house. After a brief knock on the front door, Link bobs in place and spares him a final once-over. He’s at the bottom of the porch steps, brow furrowed in a stony bored glare purposefully aimed away from Link—even though there’s no _way_ he can’t tell Link’s looking at him.

Maybe that’s how tethers for him in the past had been? Keep his distance, keep quiet… maybe he’s just back in his element.

The door swings open and Jake is there, looking much more like himself than he had the night before; he’s in a heavy gray sweater with a skull knit into the front, form-fitting black sweatpants, and his plugs showcase little geometric skeletons to match his shirt.

“Hey! Come on in,” he welcomes, stepping out of the way and giving Link entrance. He shuts the door on his heels, and Link dams up a complaint until Rhett walks through the wall beside them, face tight.

“Thanks for… havin’ me,” Link eventually answers with an off-balance smile. “What d’you need help with?”

“Wow. Right to business, then.” With a laugh Jake turns and beckons over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go to my room.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Don’t look at Rhett. Don’t look at Rhett. Don’t look at Rhett.

Link sticks to his mantra and trails along after Jake, down a spacious hardwood hallway with clouds painted on the ceiling. It’s only a few seconds before Jake lets them into his room. 

It’s… calming? A standing lamp with colored bulbs casts the room in a deep sleepy blue. A tall wooden dresser showcases a mess of different plugs, cologne, and various trinkets and knick-knacks reminiscent of travel souvenirs. A trickle of bubbling draws Link’s eye to a massive aquarium set into the wall, the area around melting turquoise. Various fish—even some crabs and shrimp, Link notes—float about the clean tank peacefully.

Jake crosses the room with purpose and sits on the sizable bed beneath worn industrial signs that have been artistically plotted and placed on the wall. Biohazard. That one’s pretty cool. How’d he even get that? 

“Close the door, will you?”

Link does as he’s asked, biting his tongue when it requires shutting it in Rhett’s face. But his demon doesn’t hesitate to correct the unintentional aggression, stepping clean through the barrier and sneering at Link with a wrinkled nose.

At least he’s not a ghoul today.

“So,” Jake begins, hunching down and pulling a lockbox from under the bed between his feet. “I was hopin’ you’d help me test out some new product I got.”

Is that _all?_ Link relaxes and regards the safe in Jake’s hands. 

“Yeah, man. I’ll smoke with you. Hardly seems like a _favor.”_

“Ahh, that’s the thing.” The box is pretty heavy duty, judging by the _clunk_ of the lid falling back onto itself. “It’s not weed.”

Rhett hisses, and Link tunes it out, honing in on the offer. “Oh. So… what _is_ it?”

“It’s E,” Jake states, checking Link’s reaction quickly. “Getting it from a new guy, and I need to check and make sure it’s clean before I start sellin’ it.”

 _“Why don’t you take it alone, then?!”_ Rhett bites like the dealer will hear him. Maybe even come away with puncture marks. 

Link blinks hard—reminds himself his demon’s not really here. “I think you’d know better than me,” he shrugs, picking honesty for once. “Never done it before.”

“Really?” Jake gives him a tickled _I don’t believe you_ smirk and retrieves a small plastic bag from the box. “Well, I really wanted someone else to experience it with me. I’ve done a lot of shit and sometimes the effects kinda… bleed together?” He sets the box on his bedside table and scratches the back of his head with his free hand. “Like, I _know_ what it’s supposed to feel like, but it’s hard separating that kinda high from others. So I need to know if it’s laced.”

 _“And you wanna use_ Link _as your personal guinea pig. In case your drugs are_ dangerous.”

At least Rhett’s addressing Jake and not Link. Makes it easier to focus. 

“I mean…” Slowly, Link paces over and takes a faltering seat beside Jake, albeit a good foot away. “What’s it s’posed to feel like?”

_“Link.”_

“Trippy,” Jake shrugs easily. “You get all happy and warm feelin’. Colors and sounds and movement are… dope?” A laugh crawls out of his throat like he couldn’t dam it up in time. “I’m bad at explainin’ it, but it’s nothin’ scary.” Without further ado, he pops open the baggy and passes it to Link for inspection.

Link takes it, turning it over in his palm and peering in to watch the harmless-looking pills knock together. “They look like Sweet Tarts.”

“With little etches on ‘em. Did you notice?” Jake chuckles, leaning in and pointing. “Little hearts.”

Familiar. Why?

_“Link, you don’t have to do this.”_

“How do…” Link huffs a nervous laugh and shakes his head.

He knows Rhett’s right. But shit, would it really be that bad? He’s already here. He owes Jake. If worst comes to worst, Rhett won’t let him _die,_ he’ll possess him and go get help _._ And while it’s true that he’d promised to take better care of himself, it’s not hard to remember that when Rhett had begged that, it had been following a _shoot-out._

This little tablet is innocuous by comparison. Looks like candy, for fuck’s sake.

“How do you take it?”

“Hold it under your tongue and let it dissolve.”

“Huh. Sounds simple enough.”

“Don’t worry. I can show you.” 

That’s when Jake’s hand finds Link’s thigh.

It’s so casual, Link isn’t even sure Jake realizes he’s doing it—but a look up confirms intent. 

Lowering the baggy to his lap, Link locks eyes with Jake and holds his breath. Wants him to offer some sort of explanation for the natural transgression past _whoops._ Yet it’s only once his throat is dry and heart is pounding that Link sees for the first time how deep Jake’s eyes are. Chocolaty and warm. 

Too warm.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Jake wonders, eyebrows hitching in vulnerability.

Rhett’s not saying anything. 

Link doesn’t want to know why.

Link knows why.

“Y-Yeah.” Stuttering. Great.

“Are… are you really gay?” Jake asks, and Link simultaneously wants to deflate and stop existing all at once. That—well, it wasn’t _exactly_ what he’d thought Jake was going to ask, but it’s close enough. It delays the what-feels-to-be-inevitable follow-up question by a few seconds.

“Uhh,” Link feigns a laugh and gulps, fighting to maintain their eye contact. “I’m bi—bisexual.”

“Right,” Jake nods. His attention drifts down until he sees himself still touching Link’s thigh, and he pulls back like he’s been shocked. Maybe he hadn’t realized after all? “I’m… I’m gonna go get us some water. This stuff probably isn’t gonna taste any good.” The explanation is awkward and Link knows it comes from a place of nerves.

Pardoning himself from the room, Link is left with Rhett, whom he finally pays mind once they’re alone.

Glowering. Thorns on his skin, pupils red, eyes so severe and unblinking on Link that he wishes he could choose the tension of staring into Jake’s eyes again, instead. 

It’s totally needless, for Rhett to be so worked up. Christ.

No matter how Jake clearly feels, Link doesn’t like him. Not like that. And he’s not going to let things progress further than he’s comfortable with simply because he owes Jake a favor—he _will_ put his foot down. 

But they aren’t going home until after this is over. So Rhett needs to cool off. Or… at least not loom around like some disapproving parent.

“Rhett,” Link whispers, wringing his hands into his jeans.

A tinge of the roiling hatred sheds from Rhett’s features, awaiting words from his master.

“You can leave, if you want,” Link points out quietly. “You could wait outside the door.”

 _“Fuck you!”_ Rhett snarls, planting his foot in a stomp and hissing, feral. _“What the fuck’s gotten into you?! I’m not going anywhere unless you command me to!”_

With a heavy sigh, Link glances about the room, at a loss. “I just… I dunno. Can you…” 

He hesitates, regretting the soft words on his lips before he’s said them. 

“Can you turn off sight?”

It’s the way Rhett loses all of his venom. 

How the hard lines of distaste vanish, and skin smooths over to its original state. His mouth falls slack, and even his fangs are gone from the gape, eyes wide and wounded and transfixed on his human. 

He stares, speechless—is this the first time ever?—and Link’s chest aches and burns as Jake comes back in carrying two sweating glasses of ice water. He steps through Rhett in the process, who doesn’t budge an inch.

No time to apologize or explain himself now. He just… doesn’t want to have to see Rhett falling apart in the corner the entire time they’re here. And it’s not like Rhett’s going to leave like he’d suggested, so this is just… the next best thing. 

At least one of them can pretend the other’s not there.

“You ready?” Jake asks, surging Link back into the moment. 

Link plasters on a half-hearted smile and nods for a few seconds too long. “Yeah.”

Jake second-guesses as he sets the glasses down, like he isn’t sure he’d heard him right. “You sure?”

“Yes. Let’s… try out some ecstasy,” Link relents.

When he glances back at the door, Rhett is gone.

He’d taken the suggestion.

That should make Link feel better.

Instead, his lungs tourniquet. 

He’s alone. Well, he’s _not—_ Jake’s here—but he _appears_ to be alone inside his own mind for the first time in… shit. Rhett’s still there, though, right? Standing where he had been a moment ago? Everything’s fine. Rhett’s still there.

“Link?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna take this from me?” 

Link startles to find a palm with a tablet on it being waved around at his collarbone. “Oh. Sorry.” His heart pounds in his ears, a war drum version of tinnitus that isn’t backing down as he tries to acclimate to being alone. “I’m kinda nervous.” That much is true.

“Hey—it’s really okay. E’s no big deal. Gonna be fine,” Jake fires off reassurances that suddenly sound empty. “Actually… if it helps take your mind off of it, I was hoping I could, uh… keep talking to you about… stuff? Like… before I bolted to go get us drinks?”

Fuck. Jake is friendly. Why’s he so friendly? And his room should be soothing with the cool lights and peaceful fish. So why does Link officially feel like he’s suffocating? He can’t get enough air. 

Just a few minutes ago, everything had been fine. Sure, Rhett had been annoying and lashing out like a petulant child, but at least he’d been visible. Now Link can’t even ask him to turn sight back on without sounding insane in front of Jake, but he _needs_ Rhett to be back—hadn’t realized how panicked and lonely and—

No. Snap out of it. This is stupid. 

Rhett isn’t some security blanket—he’s a demon who’s _currently_ bratting it up because he doesn’t trust Link. 

Yeah.

Link is vindicated. Nothing is going to happen. His tether’s still there, and they can hash it out when they get home. If… if Rhett’s open to talking through things again. Last night hadn’t been good for them. Gone to bed angry, woken up in silence—

“I’m not taking mine ‘til you take yours,” Jake interrupts Link’s train-wrecked thoughts.

Link looks at the tablet in his palm. He’s sweating.

He doesn’t want to do this. But he’ll do it.

Drugs are fine. With the right people. Is Jake a ‘right person’? 

Speaking this wariness into existence, the dealer clears his throat. “I can take mine and pass it off to you.”

“What d’you mean?” Link asks, dizzy. Still staring at the ecstasy. If he looks over the precipice of Jake’s eyes again, he’ll fall. He can hear the smile on Jake’s lips, loud and clear, ridiculously clear.

“I can take mine and kiss it to you.”

Link desperately needs to _not exist_ anymore. 

Everything is too close, moving too fast, sensory overload. Blue and heart racing and warm but not a good warm because Jake’s too close and too intense and _discomfort_ and _fear_ and Link doesn’t want to do this but he’s _going to,_ it’s why he’s here, he’s going to put the pill in his mouth without Jake kissing him and hopefully that will be a clear enough ‘no’ and Jake’s carpet is on fire.

“Fire,” Link whispers, dazed, and Jake crooks his head down to hear him.

“What?”

“Fire. _Fire!”_ Link points, waving his index finger at the flame quickly growing in size beside the dresser.

“Whoa, what the _fuck,”_ Jake cries. He fumbles, dropping his pill to the bed and hassling after the two glasses of water as Link stands and fetters his hands into his hair.

He’s going to have a panic attack. It’s been a long-time coming—since the visit from Mr. Ryan, if he’s honest—but _here?_

He and Jake rush to the flames simultaneously, and—Rhett did this, there’s no two ways about it, and he’s over here somewhere, but Link trusts him to move. He opens the door and drops his tablet to the floor as Jake dumps their drinks on the flames to extinguish them. 

Link’s headed down the hall, legs moving at half-time compared to his heart and lungs, eyes brimming. _Outside, outside, outside._

“Link! Wait, where are you going?!”

“I’m sorry,” Link yells without turning around. 

‘Cause he is. This is embarrassing. Jake hadn’t done anything wrong. Link had consented to helping him even after knowing the favor, and now he was running with his tail between his legs.

“Link, _wait!”_

No. Link opens the front door and shuts it behind him a little too hard, all but jogging to the sidewalk and taking off. It doesn’t matter which direction he’s going in—he’s not even sure he knows what his name is anymore, but he’s alone and it doesn’t matter. Just needs some time to calm down, to re-center. People are probably staring from their windows and from passing cars, all eyes on him. But it’s fine. Let him look crazy. He’s looked crazy for a while now.

He doesn’t slow until he’s in a neighborhood he doesn’t recognize. 

Breathing still shaky, he slips back into reality and acknowledges sensations his frenzied brain had blotted out: cold, crying, nauseated. Like regaining warmth in numb limbs only to find his bones broken.

“Rhett,” he tries, spinning in place and knowing he won’t find him. He has to be nearby. “Rhett, please.”

Nothing but the jolting bark of a dog protecting his fence line. Link swears, fresh tears falling, and migrates further down the sidewalk, cramming his hands in his pockets. “Rhett, where are you? Please.”

None of these are commands. Does he dare? It feels like a cheat, to force someone to obey when they don’t want to. To coax them to give you the upper hand. Problem is, he’s desperate enough. 

Stopping and swiveling in place, Link does it. 

“Rhett, show yourself to me.”

Noiselessly, his demon blips into existence.

And he doesn’t look like himself.

At first Link thinks it’s a trick of the light—the sun bright behind him, or perhaps standing in shadow. But as much as his compounding dread wishes that to be the case, it isn’t.

Rhett is a silhouette. Black, the outline of his former self. Like he’s been cut out of this world. All of the features that make him himself are smudged away, and Link closes the distance between them with halting steps. 

He’s a breathing shadow. Pinpoints of smokey red mark his eyes, but otherwise he’s just… a humanoid mass of inky darkness. No horns.

“Rhett?” 

This… this _is_ him, right? Link can’t see him very well, and—

Oh.

This is his way of being faceless for Link, even with sight turned back on. Isn’t it? This is shapeshifting.

Link yanks his glasses off and harshes his hands through his hair, swallowing a yell. “Why don’t you want me to see you anymore? You think this is funny? 'Cause of what I said earlier?”

The demon blinks. Doesn’t say anything.

“Rhett, _please.”_

Another blink—innocent and curious, locked onto his master.

“I’m—I’m not going to say ‘I’m sorry!’” Link cries, voice shredded. His hands try to find Rhett’s shoulders, but he slips through. “I didn’t do _anything_ wrong!! The only reason I didn’t want to see you was because I _knew_ it would hurt to watch you angry and in pain when there was no chance that I would _ever_ let Jake do anything like that with me!”

He knows it’s useless, but he aims a frustrated punch at Rhett’s chest. “You don’t _trust_ me!!”

The blow lands. Touch had been turned back on. 

Presumably, right after Rhett had known Link wanted it. 

Rhett stumbles back, eyes wide, silent as ever. Looking from the ground to Link on a slow loop. 

Trembling, Link tears his sight to his fist like it had betrayed him. “I—I didn’t think—I just tried, and—” 

That’s about all he can take for today.

Link hunches down to his knees and dissolves into sobs, hugging his thighs to his chest and letting out the undignified sounds of a man shattered. The tears run like ice on his cheeks. Everything is too cold: the wind, his grief, even the air surrounding their tether. Void of warmth. Unnatural.

Several seconds pass before it’s clear Rhett isn’t going to comfort him.

“I didn't want to hurt you,” Link chokes, cradling his head between his arms. “I—I would never actually hit you, I thought… _shit,_ it doesn’t matter.” He lifts his tear-streaked face to gaze up at his demon, who’s regarding him with the same nondescript fiery pinpoints. 

“I _am_ sorry, Rhett. And I don’t want to keep commanding you. I want to see you, I want to see you in your normal form—the one you like and chose to wear. I don’t want you to be quiet, I want you to say what’s on your mind. I don’t want you to think I’m horrible, or that I don’t care about my own safety due to peer pressure, or that I’m interested in Jake, or that—that _any_ of this bullshit— _all of which is my fault—_ is worth losing you!”

Rhett blinks. After a few seconds, he crouches, bringing them eye-level.

“Why do I keep fucking up?” Link strains, and his demon leans in and kisses him.

Relief.

_“I’m not sorry about the carpet, little human.”_

Link’s lids shut, unbidden. It’s so overwhelming and calming that Link laughs a bit late at Rhett’s bullheaded joke. Another kiss finds his tickled happy teeth, and another pecks at the corner of his mouth before pulling away. When Link opens his eyes again, Rhett is back to himself. Looking a little worse for wear, with gray spots around his eyes and a smile that seems to be paining him in some way. But he’s normal.

“Rhett,” Link gasps, falling forward to hug him, and Rhett catches him and hoists them both to stand. “I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I punched you.”

_“Is that what you were trying to do?”_

“I can’t believe you set Jake’s carpet on fire.”

_“I had to. You were about to poison yourself.”_

“Was it really tainted?”

_“Not sure. But if it might endanger you, I’m never going to take any chances.”_

“I’m sorry that I… asked you to turn off sight.”

There’s a hiccup in the conversation, where Rhett hugs him tighter and hums into his ear. 

_“I think we need to go home and talk.”_

Link stiffens. “That… doesn't sound good.”

Where he expects reassurances, all Rhett offers is a sigh that does its best to leech away whatever comfort Link had found in their embrace.

_“I need to tell you something.”_

At its face, that could be perfectly harmless. But it makes Link’s stomach churn—assuming the worst of every possible situation between them is a norm he’s gotten used to, unfortunately—so he makes a request. 

“Can—can it wait? Until tomorrow?” Rhett considers it with a pause, and Link rushes to add, “I just want to be with you tonight. Nothing else. I want things to feel normal again.”

It shouldn’t speak volumes, how Rhett isn’t eager to agree. Link tries not to let it as the thought stretches and grows brittle.

_“Okay. Tomorrow. You promise?”_

“I promise. First thing in the morning, we talk.” 

He’ll have time to prepare between now and then. No matter what it is.

 _“Alright. Let’s get you home, pumpkin.”_ Rhett nuzzles into his hair, and for a moment everything is okay. There’s no mysterious impending discussion, no fighting, no other people interested that he’ll have to worry about rejecting later. _“Can I make a request?”_

“Anything, Vaz’gorhett.”

_“Will you…”_

When Link eases off, Rhett’s cheeks are colored and he’s avoiding eye contact.

_“What did you call it that one time? Smaller fork?”_

Link blinks, and the grin that steals his face is genuine. “You want to be the little spoon?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Rhett nods, scratching his nose and blushing harder. _“That.”_

“Of course, cinnamon.”


	29. Breaking Point

It’s exhausting living in lengths of time that tarry between fine and tumultuous.

Last night had been perfect. The postponing of words Link knows in his gut he isn’t ready for. Soft kisses, holding Rhett close against his chest and listening to his breath steady as they’d watched shows on the laptop, lit only by the glow of the screen. The occasional exploratory hand roughing airy gasps from the other with no intent to carry the suggestion further. Velvet skin wrapped under lingering touches that burned and blankets that soothed.

It had been exactly what Link had needed. Things had felt normal again.

But the memories do little to ease the sickness already brewing in his stomach when he’s greeted by Rhett’s sun-goldened hair the next morning. 

Everything is still and hot and draped in yellow. It feels early given the birdsong outside and splash of daylight on the far wall. Link would turn to confirm the hour, but that might wake Rhett. And the longer Rhett sleeps, the longer things can stay this way before _the talk._

What does his demon need to say? Backtracking does little to provide a list of potential topics. Perhaps how hurt he’d been when Link had asked him to turn off sight? Understandable. From his perspective, surely it had just seemed that Link didn’t want to have to look at him while things progressed with Jake. Maybe he wants to apologize for losing his cool? No. That doesn’t sound likely. 

How had Rhett worded it? ‘ _I need to tell you something’?_ That phrasing—the preface itself is heavy. Like it’s been a long time coming. Link doubts, then, that it’s as something as trivial as an apology. Besides, Rhett hadn’t _seemed_ sorry about anything. 

There’s another option nagging at him, but it’s one that he really doesn't want to entertain. Not with Rhett resting easy in his arms amidst a soothing bouquet of cinnamon and spiced honey. God—that’s just _him._ That’s how his lover smells naturally—assuming that label still applies, of course, now that the sun is up. Because the thing Link doesn’t want to consider is whether the past twelve hours had been their last night ‘together.’

If it comes to that—if that’s the piece Rhett has to say—will there be a way to fix it? Past the fact that Link loves his demon, spending the rest of their contract together on the terms of exes-forced-to-be-friends doesn’t sound enjoyable for either of them. Link doesn’t want it that way. But if Rhett _does,_ it’s not like Link’s going to command him to be with him. 

Feelings aside, he wants to be kind. Still wants to be a good master in this arrangement, despite his recent slip-ups. Hell, _due to_ his recent slip-ups.

Link accidentally lets out a breath he’d been holding into Rhett’s hair, blowing his locks in a small crater. When the demon shifts and cocks his head toward the ceiling, he regrets it. 

“You awake?” Rhett asks, voice free of sleep. He’s been up a while, then.

“Yeah.” Silly, how the word trembles. 

Rhett must hear it. He rolls in place to bring them face to face, peering up at Link from his low vantage point. His bed-mussed hair is endearing, and he appears to be in decent spirits. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’.” Try as he might, Link can’t look as happy as he should be to wake up beside him. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. If it’s too hot in here, I can crack the window?”

“That’s okay.” Anything to preserve this fleeting moment. If one of them moves, it’ll break the spell. Link wraps his arms around Rhett and brings them together for a hug, pressing his lips flush to Rhett’s forehead. The demon stills—hands crushed between their torsos in a way that makes him not only small, but seemingly defensive. 

“So…” 

Even an embrace won’t delay it, then.

“Yeah?” Link closes his eyes and tries to harness his pulse. Keep it slow.

“Can we talk now?” asks Rhett. He’s calm and collected. If that’s supposed to be a good sign, then why are the capillaries in Link’s chest turning to metal? Like his ribs are tangled in steel wool.

“S-Sure.”

That damned stutter. It isn’t good, and Rhett pulls back and gazes up at Link with large, curious eyes. “Are you… are you nervous?”

Link laughs, venting some of his anxiety. “Yeah. A little.”

Rhett frowns and furrows his brow. “Well… you don’t need to be. But I’d like it if you didn’t get angry, either.”

“Angry?” echoes Link, quiet.

Withdrawing slightly, Rhett loses himself in Link’s bare chest and takes his time finding a thread of thought with which he can begin. Link _hadn’t_ been prepared for anger, but it’s hard not to fall into that mindset when someone suggests that you have reason to be right out of the gate. 

Just moments ago he’d been terrified, though. If the tables have turned, Rhett deserves the kindness Link would have wanted. Keeping that in mind, he fights back the impatience welling up as Rhett tries to start more than once. When he does speak, it’s pausing and cautious.

“Y’know, originally I wasn’t gonna bring this up at all. ‘Cause far be it from a demon to try and give their tether… _guidance,_ about the company they choose to keep. It’s not why we exist.”

This is about Jake, then. Figures.

“But I’ve been quiet too long—and thinking back on it,” Rhett wonders aloud, zoning out over Link’s shoulder, “I wish I’d pushed you harder to stay in school. It’s my fault that you got kicked out, after all, even if you try to say it isn’t. And it’s too late to fix that. But it’s not too late to do somethin’ about this.”

This would all be well and good save for the fact that it instantly exhausts Link to think about Jake. He’d been too front-and-center in Link’s life lately, playing a far larger role than his lousy first impression at the mixer could have ever predicted.

Yet despite everything Link had known and seen of him… Jake isn’t a _bad_ guy. Sure, he has a crummy hobby, and dabbles in things he probably shouldn’t. But a bad person doesn’t do someone a massive favor, like play boyfriend for an evening while transformed into a sparkling conversationalist.

Sighing, Link runs a hand through his hair and waits for Rhett to continue. The display undoubtedly reads as irritation, and Rhett bites his lower lip, fangs digging in deep, before his eyebrows knit in concern and he says, “Link, I think you should—”

Link’s bedroom door opens without as much as a knock.

Startling, Link sits up and about-faces, covering himself with the blanket as Rhett stills.

Speak of the devil.

“Link,” Jake breathes, looking every inch like he’s only just now realized he’s barging into someone’s bedroom at the crack of dawn. He’s disheveled and winded, hoodie askew and hair a mess.

 _“What the fuck,”_ is all Link has for a response.

“Link, I’m—I am _so_ sorry about yesterday.” He creeps into the room and slips the door shut behind him—an action that tenses Rhett noticeably through the mattress. “I didn’t mean to—”

“How did you get in here?!” Link demands, bunching the blankets at his chest. 

“I—your mom let me in. I told her you were expecting me. She still thinks we’re dating, right?”

“This…” Fighting off speechlessness, Link can finally check the clock on his bedside table. “It’s 8a.m.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t want to do it over text, either, ‘cause I think that’s shitty, but after you left yesterday, I realized that maybe I’d gotten the wrong idea from you when you invited me over for dinner—even though that started as an act.” Jake’s rambling, words spilling out of his mouth in a stream of consciousness. “At first I really didn’t think anything about it, but—then when I got here, you were wearing that bow tie, and—your parents are so nice, Link, I got really swept up in everything?”

Steamrolled, the brunet on the bed can only listen.

“And then yesterday I put my hand on your leg and you didn’t say stop, so I thought that maybe you were _actually_ into me—and I got carried away with that being a possibility, ‘cause _god,_ at Halloween you were just _amazing,_ and I’ve kinda been thinking about you ever since. Nonstop, if we’re being honest, but I never really thought it was actually a possibility until all of this happened?”

The painful lilt on the question wrenches Jake to an unnatural halt, shoulders heaving and wild eyes expectant on Link. 

“Is it… not? I mean—” The longer Link’s silence stretches, the more Jake unravels. It’s painful to watch, and since he can’t find words, Link brings up his hands in an unheeded plea for sanity, but Jake’s gone again. “I figured that you must know a lot of people and have a lot of friends, so even if you _were_ lying to your parents, the fact that my name came naturally to you when they asked who you were dating must mean _something,_ right? You feel it too, right?”

“Jake!” blurts Link, a full minute too late. “Please, can—can you take it easy?”

“I—I just…” 

Energy hiccuping, Jake takes a step towards the bed. Rhett hisses on cue—a shredded, shrill sound of terror—and Link wants to slap both of them on their wrists. Jesus Christ, how is _he_ the most stable person in this room?

“I didn’t want to ruin whatever might be happening between us.”

“There’s _nothing_ happening between us!” Link cries, more emphatically than he’d meant. “I don’t have any friends, Jake— _except_ for you. _That’s_ the reason your name came to mind when my parents asked about my ‘boyfriend’—because I didn’t have anyone else I could turn to! You’re my only friend, if that’s even what we are. And yesterday—shit, I don’t know! I should’ve stopped you, yeah, because frankly it doesn’t look good to hit on someone when you’re about to give them a potentially-deadly drug that’s known for making people _horny!”_

Jake’s nodding, like he knows, like he’s already told himself all of this and Link’s just repeating a diatribe he’d been tuned into for hours now. So dismissive—is he even listening? 

“You’re right, I was just excited, and—” 

He takes another step towards the bed, and this time when Rhett hisses, he shifts, lifting onto all fours.

The movement draws Jake’s eye, and his face contorts in confusion, examining the bedspread with a flitting gaze. A spike of adrenaline hits Link, and he rustles down the bed with the covers and sits on the end, pulling them away from his demon’s influence and covering himself further in the process.

“Jake,” he grabs the guy’s attention and holds his focus. “You need to leave.”

“I—wait a second! I don’t want to end things on a bad note!” To the contrary, he takes another step and sits next to Link without a second thought, which serves several purposes: it reminds Link that he’s only wearing boxers beneath the protective covers; it brings up fresh memory of fire on carpet and being far too close; and it drives Rhett to his feet, rounding the bed with sickly determination. 

“Rhett—no!”

“‘Rhett?’” Jake asks, glimpsing around the room. “Link, is someone—”

His words are cut off by his windpipe closing.

Sputtering wheezes lift Jake from his seat, throat wholly contained in one of Rhett’s unforgiving hands. 

Demon. 

His slitted eyes scream it, alive with hellfire and malice. His rigid arm bulges with veins, bony angular fingers strain and garrote oxygen from the helpless mortal in his grasp—all a macabre scene painted under a canine snarl encouraging death. 

The epitome of animus. A lover turned vile by one misstep.

 _“Rhett!”_ Link forgets himself, stands and yanks hard on his tether’s bicep, throws all of his weight into breaking the choke hold. It’s as useful as fighting a marble statue. “He didn’t _do_ anything!”

_“I’m not gonna fuckin’ wait around ‘til he does.”_

The statement sparks and crackles through the air like wood sundered by arson. Jake can’t hear it, but he doesn’t need to; the effect of Rhett’s hold, the aura the demon must be emanating? His face is drained of color, eyes bugged and darting around in a futile attempt to clock his assailant, hands flailing up to ease the attack and struggling to find purchase on Rhett’s wrists. 

“You’re gonna _kill_ him!!” Link tries to put himself into the mix. He plants a palm on each of Rhett’s arms and pushes, pulls, attempts to get a better angle by ducking and forcing inward to break his hold. 

It’s decidedly useless. An insect trying to exert its will on something unfathomable.

A terrorized glance at Jake’s face reveals his eyes losing focus and drool collecting at the corner of his mouth. Rhett’s squeeze tightens, and that’s the shot of ice Link needs to finally remember that _he’s_ in control.

“Rhett, _let him go!”_

Jake falls, slumping from the bed to the floor and hacking a glottal gasp as he fights for air. Link puts distance between them, pushing Rhett away with an elbow and giving the demon’s victim space. 

Where he expects Jake to take it gratefully, instead the man breaks into a crawl, dragging himself to unsteady feet and making his way to the door.

“Jake—wait, you need—give yourself a minute, I can explain!” Link begs.

Almost like he can’t hear the imploration, Jake keeps moving, lets himself out of the room. With one fear-filled glimpse over his shoulder at Link, he hobbles down the hallway and turns for the stairs.

In a stupor, Link listens. 

Footfalls down steps. Around. The open and close of the front door. 

Had his parents seen him? Jesus, is there a mark on his neck…?

With an all-encompassing tremble, Link shuts the bedroom door, turns, and regards his tether. 

If Rhett regrets it… fuck’s sake, he doesn’t regret it. It’s clear as anything’s ever been between them, written in the scowl wired by a short fuse. The glare locked on Link is a dare, an open invitation: 

_Go ahead. Scold me._

Gladly.

“Rhett,” breathes Link, not caring to contain the tremor in his tone, “what the _fuck?!_ Have you lost your mind?! You almost killed him! There’s one thing— _one thing_ I told you I never, _ever_ wanted us to do, and that was to _hurt people!_ You dragged him to the brink of death, and only stopped because I _forced_ you to!” The spoken realization sends a chill up Link’s spine and stands his hair on end.

Rhett’s willingness to stay quiet until Link is finished is unnerving. Interruptions are normal. The biding and patience isn’t.

 _“He was way out of line. Where do you begin to care, Link? When does your sense of self-preservation kick in?”_ His pupils are whet into slivers, sharp enough to cut should Link brave them too long. _“Am I just supposed to sit here and watch shit happen to you for the next five years? You were a fuckin’_ doormat _for him_ — _practically had ‘welcome’ written all over you!”_

“He didn’t _do_ anything,” Link presses, low. He can feel the flare of his nostrils, the disgust crinkling his nose. “And now he knows _you_ exist. You think he’s just gonna keep quiet? That he’s gonna get hauled into the air by a force he can’t see— _whose name I know_ , almost meet his maker, and then _not_ say anything about it to anyone?!”

_“Who’s going to believe him? He’s on a cocktail of drugs. He’ll sound like a fucking lunatic.”_

“There’s no way you didn’t leave a bruise, Rhett!”

_“Why are you defending him?!”_

The question is a feral cry-bordering-scream that turns the demon more beast than man. 

 _“I wouldn’t have to do anything if you would just watch out for yourself! This is_ your _fault. You know what I wanted to tell you about Jake, before he strolled in like you’d fuckin’ summoned_ him, _too?!”_

Where does he get off, comparing their tethering to _Jake?_ Link glares in exasperated disbelief as his hands fall to his sides.

_“I was going to tell you that he’s manipulating you!! None of that shit was real—even now. I know it for a fact—known it since the mixer, where he spiked the goddamn drinks for a party he didn’t even wanna fuckin’ be at. The only reason he wants to be ‘close’ with you isn’t ‘cause you’re good-looking or irresistible. He’s looking for someone he can trick into working for him, he just wants a patsy to help him lug around his business; someone else to take the fall in case he’s caught! He’s toying with you!”_

“Wow,” Link nods, a wretched smile finding his lips and damming up a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Rhett hesitates, features easing just so. _“What?”_

“It’s disgusting that you’re this jealous, Rhett.” Link directs his grin to the ceiling. “I’m sick of this shit. You don’t trust me. Don’t believe in me. Don’t think I’d stop him if he were to _actually_ lay a hand on me, so you’re really gonna whip up some bullshit claims about what an awful person he is just to scare me? That’s low, even for you,” he bites, shaking his head and laughing.

It’s not funny.

Swelling forward, Rhett smolders, forcing his human’s eyes on him. _“You think this is a game? You’re choosing a side, here, Link. You either admit to yourself that all I’ve done since we met is watch after you and take care of you… or, you tell me I’m being dishonest about your own shithead safety, based on the belief—and_ this _is_ _laughable—that I can’t handle the thought of you bein’ with another human, like you damn well should be?”_

Rhett fishes his hellphone out of his pocket and holds it up in the air between them.

_“Think I’m lying? Fuckin’ check for yourself. Maybe if you do, you’ll finally stop assuming the worst of me. I don’t give a shit who you’re sleeping with. But it’s goddamned exhausting, carin’ about you more than you care about yourself.”_

Link studies the phone, face drawn. When his smirk returns, it builds, breaking into a smile and filtering rhythmic huffs of amusement. 

None of this is funny.

“Jesus Christ,” Link mutters. 

He’s done. 

If the demon is so unhappy with the way Link’s life is going lately? Well, that makes two of them. 

“Just break the tether already, Rhett.”

Crackling.

Preoccupied, Link drags his eyes up to Rhett’s and stops.

That expression—wide-eyed injury. Shock. Betrayal. It’s fresh in Link’s mind and right there in front of him, again, the visible cusp of something gone wrong he doesn’t comprehend. Can barely begin to register it before Rhett straightens to his full height and lets the phone slip from his hands, thudding to the floor. Link bears witness, breath locked and brow tight as the splintering sound grows to a racket.

The hairline cracks ringing Rhett’s remaining horn rip the warmth from his lungs.

 _“You know I can’t do that,”_ Rhett whispers, voice shaking. _“But you always were good at finding loopholes… huh, pumpkin?”_

The snap is ear-splitting. There’s a burst of purpled shadow that surges outwards from his body before being sucked back in, and when it’s over, Link is alone in his bedroom. Blinking, and hardly aware of what he’d done.

“Rhett?”

Link turns a circle, seeking. Searching. Heart leaping to a storm. 

“Rhett?!”

But he doesn’t need to hear an answer when he can _feel_ one. 

It’s effortless, to know the difference between being whole and incomplete. To be halved in a second, riddled with missing pieces inside that waste no time aching and crying out at the freshness of exposure. _Truly_ alone, and not for lack of sight or touch or any sense between. 

Untethered.


	30. Breadcrumbs

He hadn’t meant to. 

It had been a slip-up—a clumsy tongue from the heat of the moment. 

Link is alone.

Everything is still. Stunned into a diorama of impossibility where he’s the only player—a doll, a lone toy—Link forgets to breathe. Doesn’t blink. Wouldn’t let his heart beat if he could help it. Wrong, that it continues to do so autonomously, lapping at him in reminder of his freshly severed existence. Rocking him gently on the balls of his feet in the aftermath of his mistake.

 _Mistake._ Hardly a word to encapsulate what he’d done.

Rhett’s gone. And Link had been the one to banish him. That’s… 

This can’t be real. This is a nightmare.

They’re still in bed together. Rhett’s still in his arms, sleeping soundly and undisturbed by hellfire.

That’s nice, but the chill tells him it’s delusional. Wishful thinking.

The solitude settling into Link’s bones and weighing them to lead is paired with a cold so encompassing that it casts him into violent shivers and goosebumps. Distantly he can hear his lungs struggling to remain as steady as he needs them to be but failing spectacularly, carrying his being with tattered nerves and oxygen too fresh for his brain. Like ice—had living always been this unwelcoming?

Finally ripping his sights from their furor of nowhere, Link gazes about his room in halting ticks. 

Everything’s the same—offensively so. The empty hammock in the corner. The haphazard blankets strewn across the mattress. The laptop on the floor beside a long-forgotten pile of textbooks half-under the bed frame. The bag of weed and rolling papers on the side table.

Like a time warp. He’d been in a daydream for almost three months and was only now reawakening to find his reality pocked with evidence of his shortcomings. Drop-out. Pothead. Heartbreaker.

Traitor.

His life had gotten so off-track, and yet… god, he’d been _alive_. 

He’d been laughing and loving and living more than he had in his entire 19 years, and with another fresh, phantom punch to the gut, Link wallows in the truth that it had been because of Rhett. 

Who he loves more than he’s ever loved anyone. 

Who isn’t here anymore. 

 _You’re not ever going to see him again,_ whispers his subconscious, rapping hard on his cognizance to wake it from its stupor. 

It’s a poor substitute for the voice of his demon. 

 _You’ll never be able to apologize. Never be able to tell him you love him again. He’s back in Hell, and he’ll remember you being exactly as cruel and abusive as every other tether he’s had. You love him—the first person you’ve_ ever _truly loved—and you failed him. And that’s all he’ll ever know you for while he endures eternal torture._

With a reckoning gasp, the first round of searing grief sunders Link from throat to gut. He doubles over in its wake, clammy hands on his knees, eyes screwed shut as nausea sweeps through every organ, luxuriating and taking its time spoiling his innards. 

“Oh, fuck— _Rhett!”_

He knows the name won’t get a response. But that doesn’t hinder the meltdown quickly encroaching in the mocking silence. Heaving sickly breathes and relenting to the fine veil of sweat condensing on his forehead, Link tries finding the threads of the carpet to ground himself—to fixate on and hold his hand through the panic attack.

What he finds instead is Rhett’s hellphone, resting where it had been dropped. 

A memento.

A shard of something light and daring cuts through the devastation and pierces Link’s sternum, fights off the darkness.

Hope.

Please let the battery be charged. 

It’s difficult with his hands quivering as much as they are, but Link picks up the discarded phone and tests the weight of it in his palm. It looks just like his own—save for the background that greets him when he wakes the screen. 

It’s a selfie of them. 

Link doesn’t remember it; he hadn’t known Rhett had taken it. They’re in bed together. Link’s obviously asleep—his glasses are off and hair’s a bit of a mess—but Rhett’s resting his chin on his tether’s shoulder, smiling up at the camera in a way that wrings Link’s heart numb. 

He looks so happy. Eyes twinkling and cheeks rosy. No traces of trial on his features. Like he’s right where he wants to be. 

This is the only picture that exists of Rhett. 

Only a demon camera can capture a demon’s likeness, it seems. If the hellphone’s database doesn’t have any potential leads on repairing their bond, plan b is to send the photo to himself and print it out. Do _something_ with it that’s worthy of how much Rhett means to him. Maybe he can build an altar.

Swallowing those possibilities down, Link navigates to the browser app he’d seen Rhett use in the past and pokes the search bar with a twitchy thumb. When the keyboard pops up, it’s chock-full of archaic sigils that make him feel uneasy, even at a glance. 

“The fuck…?”

Oh. Right. English isn’t Rhett’s first language. Demons must have a script all their own.

Pressing his lips thin and concentrating, Link manages to hold down the globe on the side of the display and switch it to English. Hopefully searching will still work, even if it isn’t Demonic. 

_how to fix a broken tether_

He feels stupid and helpless choosing that as his query, but it’s a good jumping-off point.

Rather than a list of landing sites, the entire app blinks and presents him with another page brimming with bizarre markings. Rhett can _read_ these? They seem too chaotic to be a written language. Tapping, Link holds down the cursor until a window pops up and selects ‘translate.’

_CONTRACTS CANNOT BE BROKEN ONCE FORMED._

_CONTRACTS CANNOT BE MENDED ONCE BROKEN._

_IF A CONTRACT ENDS BEFORE THE HUMAN IS READY, A FRESH CONTRACT MUST BE WRIT._

But Rhett had said that a new contract didn’t guarantee he would come back, right? _Fuck._

Does Link really want to toss pennies into the demons’ den on the _off-chance_ it would be Rhett who gets hired again? And that’s assuming it would be swift—he could burn his life away hiring demons one year at a time, waiting and trying just to spend _one_ of those years with Rhett.

He’s worth it.

But the den might move soon. There’s got to be a better way.

Wracking his brain, Link presses his hand to his mouth and knits his brow before trying a different approach.

 _demon horn_ _breakage_

Translate.

_HORNS BREAK FROM DISOBEDIENCE._

_DISOBEDIENCE IS UNWILLINGNESS TO SIN._

_HORN LOSS IS REVOLTING._

Not helpful. Intestines cramping, Link hits the back button and lets out a jittery breath. These ‘articles’—or whatever they were—read more like rules from some fucked up cult than an informational guide. No wonder all demons assume humans are disgusting little sacks of meat. He doesn’t even _want_ to know what the article on them says.

_loss of both horns_

Click.

_BREAKING BOTH HORNS TURNS ONE FERAL._

Link’s heart skips a beat as he re-reads the sentence thrice.

_LOSS OF CONTROL AND BURN OF ENERGY UNTIL EXPENDED._

‘Loss of control.’ _Jesus,_ what had Link done?

_ONCE EXPENDED, CESSATION._

Cessation.

That means—that means they don’t exist anymore, doesn’t it?

“No,” Link tells the phone, double-checking that he’d registered that correctly. “No, no, no…!”

He hadn’t just banished Rhett, then. 

He’d killed him. 

 _More_ than killed him—he’d stopped his entire existence. He’d lit a fuse, and somewhere—in a place that probably isn’t accessible from here—Rhett is a ticking time bomb. Feral until exhaustion, and once exhausted? Gone.

With a whimper he punches back to the search screen, fingers flying.

_where do we go when we turn feral_

_ENERGY IS EXPENDED ON THE MORTAL PLANE._

_THE PATH BEGINS AT THE SUMMONING POINT._

Summoning point? 

The boulder in the forest?

Okay, _good,_ that’s at least _one goddamn concrete answer_ Link can work with. He’ll go to the woods, find Rhett, and… shit. Shit, what happens then? Even if he _can_ locate Rhett in the few hours before he’s winded—which isn’t a guarantee, since who knows how fast the demon moves when he’s not being lugged around by Link’s bumbling ass— _then_ what does he do?

Racked with tremors, he enters his last inquiry.

_how to repair broken horns_

_ALCHEMY._

The single word stares up at him from the screen, taunting and not nearly enough. 

_what is alchemy_

_THE TRANSMUTATION OF ONE SUBSTANCE TO ANOTHER WITH GREAT INTENT._

_“Fuck!”_ Link wails, winding his arm back to throw the phone against the wall, but thinking better of it at the last second. 

If it’s not gonna be more specific than that? _Fine._ Link will find a way, ‘cause if there’s one thing he’s not running short on, it’s sure as shit _intent._ Eyes darting around, Link drops the phone to the bed and swiftly pulls on clothes grabbed blindly from his laundry chair—joggers and a shirt too thin and short-sleeved for the temperature outside. He snatches his backpack from the floor, dumping its contents and striding across the room. 

Stuff Rhett likes. It’s the only lead Link has. Even if he can’t transmute them—assuming that Rhett’s still in the forest, he’s betting all his chips on being able to use a _stick_ or something—maybe items from home will calm him down from his frenzy.

His hellphone.

The weed from the bedside table.

A bag of half-finished habanero chips.

God, Rhett’s so much more human than he thinks he is.

Everything is whisked into the waiting pack, which Link is zipping up when his mother’s voice comes up the stairs.

“Link? Hon?”

“Yeah?” he calls back thoughtlessly, already heading for the door.

“Is everything okay? I saw Jake leave in a tizzy, but didn’t stop him.”

Link’s at the top of the stairs and coming down, avoiding his pajama’d mother and turning for the front door.

“Link! Wear a coat, at least!” she calls after him, trailing along and watching from the living room as Link stomps his shoes on. “Did you have a fight? Are you going after him...?”

“No,” he shakes his head and isn’t even done tugging on the light jacket when he opens the front door. “I’m going to get Rhett.”

“What?” Mom asks, voice pinching high with concern at her son’s unusually dismissive behavior. “Who’s Rhett?” 

“My _real_ boyfriend.” 

The words are easy, and vindictive, and Link berates himself for not using them sooner. So what if people think he’s crazy? Fuck them. He’s spent too long keeping secrets. In the grand scheme of things, _nothing_ is scarier than the prospect of losing Rhett. He’ll broadcast his haunting to the world if it means his demon will return to him safely.

Or… even just survive. Without Link.

“ _What?”_ Mom squeaks, and he spares her one last glance.

“I’ll explain when I get home. I have some things I need to tell you and Dad.”

Slinging his pack on and praying he’s not too late, Link shuts the door behind him and breaks into a full sprint towards the neighboring woods.

 

* * *

 

_Let him be there._

Link takes a shortcut, now confident enough with his knowledge of the den’s clearing to predict the path from elsewhere. The cold is biting—he’s poorly dressed for the weather, sockless and coat much too breathable. Pushing it away, Link takes deep breaths like a machine, legs pumping and carrying him first across someone’s side lawn and then to the edge of the forest.

Adrenaline sharpens him. Every sense is fine-tuned as he tears through the trees, rubber soles predicting roots and stones and using them as springboards to keep momentum. It’s difficult running with a full pack—the load bangs and thrashes against his shoulders and lower back—but he ignores it, ignores everything except navigating through the lifeless grove.

The meadow breaches in the distance, and Link’s determination falters.

The boulder had moved.

Well… not _moved_ as much as it’d been catapulted into the trees? Several of the thinner oaks had clearly been in the path of the projectile, their brittle trunks snapped and splintered, tops missing. The boulder itself had crashed and sticks out of the ground at a jagged angle, nestled among the bases of the trees some twenty-odd feet past the clearing.

 _Rhett_ had done that? Jesus, how strong must he be and had just never shown Link...?

Closing the distance to the den with a jog, Link slows and takes in the scene surrounding the hole’s exposed entrance. Deep, frantic claw marks gash the earth, singeing the grass to near-black—exposing the dry ground beneath and painting a vivid picture of a rabid animal gnashing its way out of Hell. 

Only, no. It’s _not_ some mindless beast. It’s his demon—the being he’s in love with—and he would do well to keep that in mind. 

Link follows the trail visually, plucking his bag straps tight as he cranes his neck this way and that to peer into the woods. There are markings on the trees every so often, where the bark has been stripped away by razor-like grasps for balance. 

How long ago had Rhett left? Hopefully it’s not too late.

Link tracks the disarray, quickly learning to look for snapped twigs and scattered leaves where the damaged husks fail him. With determination, his speed renews, and soon he’s running again—trying to regain the time wasted in his bedroom, fumbling for answers.

This direction isn’t familiar. It’s not the way he’d come, nor is it leading to the neighborhood from which they had trekked in the past— _thank god._ Rhett would never purposefully to harm civilians… right? _No,_ he had already expressed remorse over that when they’d gone camping. That wasn’t him. 

But… maybe it _is_ feral Rhett.

The sound of a siren impales the quiet, closer than Link would have assumed. Sure enough, another half-minute of a hard run and he breaks from the treeline, wheeling about to look at the strip mall in the distance. 

It’s on fire.

“Holy shit,” gasps Link in between pants.

The long building billows thick black smoke up into the otherwise-blue sky, and the screaming firetruck rounds the corner and bucks to a stop before it. Firefighters scramble like roaches, fetching the hose as a unit and hauling it to the nearest hydrant. 

It’s still early morning. Hopefully, no one had been hurt.

Well, then. 

It’s a different _kind_ of trail, but at least Link knows which way Rhett had gone.

“Come on,” he hypes himself, bouncing twice before resuming his chase. Staying on the far side of the street lets him bypass the scene of the accident, along with rows of houses with worried families freshly-woken, standing on their lawns and considering the possibility of ashes catching in the cold wind. 

Rhett hadn’t meant to do that. He wouldn’t have _wanted_ to do that. He’s just on a blind rampage.

A burnt bush here. 

Charred sidewalk there.

And then the instant Link lays eyes on the destination on the next corner, he knows Rhett’s inside—can feel it well before one of the beautiful stained windows blows out in a chiming shower of rainbow glass that rains to the yard and sidewalk ahead. 

Why would Rhett come back _here,_ of all places? He hates the church. To him, it’s a place of ire and threat. A reminder to his nature and a giant middle finger to his entire life. The whole time they’d been inside, Rhett had been scared and withdrawn, made a shell of the person he usually… 

Actually, it makes complete sense that he should want to return on a power bender.

Link darts across the road and hedges on the property line, the shattered window fresh in his mind and at his feet.

But Rhett’s running out of time. 

Has been, for far longer than Link’s comfort would like.

The heavy wooden doors are hot to the touch, but he heaves against them and forces his way into the church, trapping himself with a force of reckoning for whom he would gladly welcome death.


	31. Destruction and Consequence

Quiet. Deathly so, save for the roar and crackle of fire undisturbed.

Sweltering. A heat so enveloping it reddens skin tender and runs the brain dry.

From the outside the church had been intact, unnoticed by the distracted neighborhood and fire department. Sure, a window had shattered—but the building itself stands in testament to its construction. Thick bricks safeguarding good and harboring evil, shepherding both sides of the compass for the safety of the people of Raleigh. Saying one thing and doing another; a facade to cloak an entity. 

The destruction of the interior is nearing totality.

One half of the halidom is a mangled mess of pews, their polished veneers disregarded in heaps. It’s easy enough to imagine the possessed sweeping shove that had sent them all to clog the altar in unfathomable fury. Cluttered like pick-up sticks, they’re chewed by flames which lick towards the ceiling, hungry for more sustenance. Link had never noticed how untamed fire is.

The unheaved benches on the mirroring side of the aisle are adorned with deep-set lacerations, a scratching post for vindication. The claws to leave such damage hadn’t discriminated: tapestries are mangled, either cleaved clean in half or shredded to fanned ends that flutter in the updraft; the walls themselves are coated with ire and char; and every likeness of someone holier than the man of Link’s affections has been marred.

The altar is ruined. 

The font? Cracked and crumbled, as if gripped and torn down its middle. Candelabras gnarl and bend, misshapen first by muscle and second by melt. The organ—it’s hissing and popping, threatening to spew lamentations of its own demise under very real hellfire. The last singing vocal cord of the sinner-turned-damned.

Sweat slicking his brow, Link takes in the destruction and shields his face with his arm. The ash and smoke failing to vent through the impromptu skylight are suffocating.

_“Rhett!”_

Eyes darting from stockpile to stockpile of refuse and wreckage, he does his best to catch a glimpse of the demon. If Rhett’s here, he’s well-hidden.

“Rhett, can you hear me?” Link tries again in a desperate yell, and a snarl answers him from the rafters.

The cry—it’s bestial. Inhuman. The farthest from the timbre of his beloved that Link’s ever heard, railing fear up his spine in a convulsion. Spinning in place, he steps farther into the chaos, invites more heat on his already-screaming skin and gazes up to the vaulted ceiling.

Still, nothing. But he’s in here. That much is clear.

If he can hear, then he can listen.

“Rhett, it’s me—it’s Link! I just want to talk!” 

The call earns another response—a guttural roll with clicks, throaty and warning.

“I’m—I’m _so_ sorry, Rhett!” Embers float past, recoiling Link from the promise of burned vision. He pushes on, “I never wanted you to leave. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I was just mad and—how stupid is that? I was seeing red, like any of that shit mattered next to you. Like you would actually lie to me, like anyone could be more important to me than you!” Pausing, swallowing soot, his voice breaks wet. “Please? Talk to me!”

Crawling. The skitter of nails from the heavens, moving about and uncaged.

The rafters aren’t _that_ dense. Link should be able to see him, especially in movement.

Sight is broken.

Shit. _Shit,_ this is never going to work if Link can’t even lay eyes on Rhett. 

Fine.

Link swears softly, shedding his jacket from under his backpack and shaking out the fear in his hands. “Hey! Are you listening to me? I need to tell you something!”

The sound of a giant rat navigating attic beams halts.

“I lied to you. You’re _not_ an angel, Rhett.” Despite the inferno, Link shivers admitting the next words. “You never were. You’re a _demon,_ and I was wrong to ever tell you otherwise.”

The entity falls. Even without visual, it’s obvious—a swathe cuts through the smoke and the ground concaves, shattered tiles held together by the velour rug of the promenade. The room shakes with the demon’s landing, tipping over a finally-freed pipe of the organ, sending it to the ashes with a mournful wail.

Holding his gaze on where the phantom looms—across from him, down the aisle—Link stands tall and squares his shoulders.

“I know that’s why you’re angry. Condemned to a tormented husk of a life that you _used_ to know in earnest? Anyone would be. But I never should have given you false hope that you could be anything other than what you _are,_ Rhett: a demon.”

A roar pierces the temple, shattering the remaining windows and cascading glass to the floor in an unfitting, melodic tinkling. 

Link had learned about Rhett’s strength. He hadn’t counted on his speed. 

When the demon collides with him, his existence is stunned. Stuttering, white, hiccuping to keep his mind in his body as _somewhere, some_ part of his brain manages to put his bare right arm between himself and his attacker. 

The pain, he’d also anticipated. Not that it prepared him.

Ripping, searing, bone-curdling. Acute and intense, flesh separated from bone in pincering agony. Raw nerve endings gasping, there’s a chilling scream. 

Wet. Wet hand, wet cheeks. 

Warm.

Self and soul staggering, Link fixes his eyes to something, anything—the razor-like teeth lining the nearest window like a gaping monster’s mouth. He stares up from his vantage point on the burning tile and begs the words to come.

“B-But that d-doesn’t mean you’re _b-bad,”_ he chokes, knowing that if he looks down and sees the state of his forearm being maimed by his invisible partner, that will be it. He’ll pass out, and Rhett will die. Grunting, neck bulging against receptors firing off, Link manages, “It makes it even _more_ imp—impressive that y-you’ve got… a _good heart!”_

The offending weapons abandon him, and he sucks in lungfuls of shock and relief, cupping the air around his wounds for fear of touching them. A stalking keen dares him to get up. _Try his luck._

Does he have a choice?

Consciousness twined to a thread, room swiveling, Link pulls himself to a shaky sit and blinks raw eyes to look up.

It _had_ been a bite, then.

Because there’s Rhett.

The pain Link endures marries the appearance of his demon in this state. He’s hunched in a manner that suggests he can’t _not_ prowl like an animal. The lines of his face are hardened into a permanent, natural sneer—fangs longer than Link has ever seen them, carnivorous opalesque scythes freshly crimsoned, dripping. The jagged stumps on his forehead. His bare, heaving chest and tattered pants. The obsidian claws hanging taut and twitching between his bent knees. The thick pronged tail dragging to and fro, agitating the floor debris at his back. 

His eyes—they’re void. Nothingness set into a terrible skull.

This is still Rhett.

Crawling to his feet, Link takes some shuffling steps back and angles his good arm to pull the first item from his pack. His fingers curl around the hellphone and yank it free, holding it in the air between them. What comes next? He has no idea. But the words _great intent_ are stuck in his head, and he’s never been more intent on anything in his entire life. 

Rhett is dying. These are his last moments, unless Link can help.

Bottom lip quivering, Link thrusts the cellphone at him like it’s a crucifix, thumb clicking the background to life for the demon to see.

“Do you remember this, Rhett?” he pleads, giving it a glance to ensure it’s showing the selfie—them curled up in bed together. “Look at us! This is what you wanted—and it’s what _I_ want, too!”

It’s impossible to tell whether Rhett’s paying attention. He inhales a reaching rasp, hackles raising and tail flicking angrily. 

But he doesn’t lunge.

Taking the opportunity, Link stumbles forward, attempting to close a bit of the distance between them. He might not know anything about the mechanics of alchemy, but in all likelihood, he would guess that he needs to be _touching_ Rhett’s broken horns with the material for this to work. If he can just—

_Disgusting._

At once frozen, Link gasps and doubles over, eyes bugged on the floor and face contorted, grip pinkened white on the phone. 

_Useless. Worse than useless—you don’t offer anyone anything, do you, heartless?_

Fresh tears spill down his cheeks as his own thoughts turn against him. Rapids of loathing and a loss of self that burgeons out from within. 

_Why are you even trying? You have no idea what you’re doing. You never did._

These—these aren’t things Link had _never_ thought about himself, but rather doubts he’d successfully trained into the back of his psyche, smashed down under forced positivity that kept him moving day to day. Is— _how?_ They aren’t coming from Rhett, they’re—

_Unkind, unworthy, uncaring. Despicable. How could you?_

Straining, Link peers up through one watery eye. The demon’s face is level, holed eyes free of tension and presumably watching his prey carefully. Waiting.

Emotional manipulation. Link had asked Rhett to turn it off such a long time ago that he’d completely forgotten it was one of his abilities. But _this?_ This is on another level—it’s red-lining, curling the human and filling his brain with horrific things. 

Can one die from self-hatred? Not from acting upon it, but from _feeling_ it so intensely?

_No one would miss you, you know. Let him kill you._

Objectively, Link knows it’s not _truly_ Rhett. It’s in his own head, his brain is supplying it. Rhett is just the catalyst. 

 _“Rhett, please,”_ he groans, proffering the phone to the air above him, unable to look up from the onslaught of revulsion. “I just want t-to help. I’m sorry.”

The device is struck from his hand and shatters on the ground, the pieces sliding into fire.

There’s no mercy here, at least not outright—the distraction breaks Rhett’s influence, and with a sharp inhale Link straightens and lurches farther towards him. He reaches into his bag again, ignoring the ever-present drip and sting of his damaged arm.

He only has two more shots at this, and the next comes in the form of the spicy chips he’d bought for their camping trip. A half-finished bag, crinkly and out-of-place and ridiculously innocent for their intent. What had Link been _thinking?_

No time to wait, he digs into the snack with a quaking aim and pulls some of them free, crumbling and crunching in his tremulous grip. “You taught me _so much_ about myself,” he pushes, wincing at the sob that escapes him. “I adored every second of it. And learning a-about you, too—your quirks and likes and what a wonderful person you are, Vaz’gorhett—”

Rhett sinks to his hands and knees, screaming up at Link in a cry more fit for a blood-lusting vulture than any humanoid. 

The effect is instant.

Link chokes and vomits, hurling his stomach contents off to the side and dropping the offering in the process. Each retch cramps every organ in his body, watering his eyes and simultaneously filling him and vacating him with _sick._ His arms find and cradle his abdomen, and after the third upheaval, the acidic burn of bile is all that greets his wretched esophagus.

He’s empty, yet he can’t stop. Physically cannot.

Quivering, crying, pale, Link relents to wave after wave of illness, paying the punishment for words and assumptions Rhett doesn’t want. It’s being wrung out, over and over, squeezing Link dry and weakening him ‘til every muscle is fatigued and begging for release.

But Rhett still needs him. Is still going to _die,_ and a stomach in revolt is nothing compared to death. 

Light-headed, seeing spots, Link reaches blindly. The illness isn’t going to stop. Not without distraction.

Slipping off the backpack and digging in, he pulls the final item from it and tosses the bag aside. 

This is the last bullet in his holster. 

Weed. 

There’s no humor in this revelation, like there should be. None of this is funny. 

In between preoccupations with illness, Link forces words in edgewise: “Remember the—the night on the roof?” he cries, and the relief is so cool and forgiving that he wants to pass out. Having broken Rhett’s focus once again, he stumbles forward.

Could reach out and touch Rhett. Good thing; he _needs_ to. 

Tantalizingly close to those broken horns, Link pushes himself, memories tumbling from his lips in a stream he can’t stop. “We s-sat on top of my house and looked at the stars, a-and you told me that—that you were _used_ to this kind of pain, Rhett.” 

The demon isn’t moving. He’s listening, watching. Staring up at Link from his crouch on the floor, lips spasming to remind the mortal of hypodermic teeth.

“I don’t _ever_ want you to be in pain. Not like this. Not in any form. All I want—all I’ve _ever_ wanted is for you to be _happy,_ cinnamon. And I’d go to my death with no regrets if you could be happy with _me.”_

Rhett doesn’t move. But perhaps he doesn’t need to, since everything else does.

Wobbling on suddenly-unsteady feet, Link blinks around at the detritus and quickly-crumbling church. Shadows. Oozing and flowing and gathering, steeping into spaces they don’t belong, defying the overwhelming brightness of flames and asserting themselves. Moving in on Link in a circling whirlwind, dizzying, _terrifying—_

“Link? Sweetheart?”

Link turns, jerking his attention and nearly tripping over his own legs to find the source of his mother’s voice. She’s—she can’t be here, it’s too dangerous! Why would she follow him into a burning building? He’s not worth it, he’s not—

“What’s wrong, sport? You okay?”

With a shrill yell, Link turns again, clutching the baggy to his chest as icy dread capsizes his innards. Both. Both of his parents are here, somewhere in those fleeting shadows, in the murky impossibilities swelling and spurting from the shattered floors. 

 _“No!”_ Link knows he’s screaming, foggily. Can’t help it. “No, I don’t want _anybody_ to get hurt!!”

A flash of something rearing its head, close, teeth, gaping, gnawing, wanting a bite.

Warbling, Link throws a hand to knock it off balance—and his palm slips right through.

 

Heavy breathing, gasping, sweat beading and rolling and _so much smoke._

 

These aren’t real.

 

These are Rhett’s, too. 

                                                                                 Hallucinations.

Rhett.

 

Where is he?

 

There’s still                       time.   

 

Find him

                          on the floor

                                                                                                                                                              he’s...

 

                                             scared                                                                _that makes two of us_

 

_god, he looks scared_

_you did that to him_

_even without eyes I can tell_

 

there’s still time

_is there?_

there’s still time

 

get 

 

get 

 

Get to him,                   _he’s weak but_

it’s not too late.

 

Knees landing

 

hard on the tile, Link clenches the bag of drugs and throws himself at the demon, pressing it hard to Rhett’s forehead and willing himself into an open-mouthed mantra of determination, a spell he doesn’t know the words for:

“Don’t let it end like this, repair the damage, let me help, I just want to help—”

Twisting his head violently away from the solution, Rhett snarls and grabs it, incinerating the intentions as easily as tinder to a flame. 

Hope leaves in the arms of the demon, and limp, the human breaks.

He’d tried.

There are worse ways to die than at the hands of someone he’d betrayed, earning recompense. 

He cries openly, screwing his eyes shut and daring to lay hands on Rhett’s bare shoulders as the demon presses their foreheads together. Another savage, chilling scream at point-blank digs nails into Link’s being—not from fear.

Rhett is broken, too. It’s an anguished howl; the wounded dirge of a thing dying.

“I don’t have anything else for you, Rhett,” sobs Link. He’s shaking. His weight is entirely in the demon’s twitching restraint, held by claws that threaten to sever his torso clean in two. “I—I can’t… I don’t have more. I can’t fix my mistake, cinnamon… all my fault.”

Rhett growls, pressing harder. 

His breath is unfamiliar. It stinks of charcoal and burnt flesh, all traces of spice and honey gone.

“I’m so sorry, Rhett.”

Would give him anything. Should still be trying, should be fighting and trying until his last breath, to restore him. But in the same way Rhett’s nearing the end of his energy, so is Link. 

The blood loss, the illness, the smoke.

“I don’t want this to be how it ends.”

The words warble and choke. Numb, Link slides his hands from the plane of the demon’s chest—takes in the shallow breaths and furrowed brow pardoning him further seconds of life—and runs his hands along his own thighs, feeling, searching for more. Anything.

Rhett’s lip curls at the movement and he bows his head, pressing his nose to Link’s pulse point and hiking the mortal’s heart rate up—apparently, it can go higher.

There’s something there. In the fabric, bunched and forgotten. 

Link’s fingers trip, seeking, reaching in and grabbing the object and tugging as Rhett hones in on his veins, pulls back and bares his teeth with a rumble.

“I love you, Rhett.” 

Link braces himself, pushes the object onto his demon’s forehead.

Everything goes white.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s just as well that he’s dead.

Wouldn’t be much of a life without Rhett by his side.

It’s not like Link could ever live happily after this, anyway. Not having seen the repercussions of his thoughtlessness up close. Having to face every day knowing what he’d done? It’s a selfish relief that he doesn’t have to, if he’s honest. Death is warm and forgiving. Far more gentle than he ever dared to assume.

Cradling. Tender.

Soft lips on his neck—on his pulse point.

Ironic, that he gets to relive a favorite sensation as he dies. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Pumpkin.”

Okay, _that’s_ just cruel. Link’s tears renew at the familiar voice, sliding easily down his cheeks. Never thought he’d get to hear that voice again.

“Pumpkin?”

This time, it’s tinged in worry, and Link finds that he’s still capable of opening his eyes.

Still in the church—no longer on fire. Still in the floor. Still being held by—

“Rhett?” Link breathes, staring down at the back of the one clinging to him. Whose lap he’s suddenly sitting in, straddling him. The demon’s head is crooked to Link’s neck. He sounds cognizant, breathing fast—on the verge of some kind of meltdown—and if it’s the last thing Link does, he’s going to hug him and hold him through it while Rhett can still hear him. 

Arm gushing enough blood to obscure his heavy wounds, Link encircles Rhett’s shoulders and holds him tight. “I’m _so sorry._ ”

“Heard that part,” Rhett huffs with what _seems_ to be humor, returning the embrace without hesitation.

When he leans back and looks at Link, the human’s breath catches in his throat.

“You’re alive.”

Rhett’s back to normal—save for the headband he’s wearing now, homemade horns of clay nesting like a second row of teeth on his head, above his stumps. Speechless, Link stares at them, and the smile breaking over Rhett’s features morphs into an appreciative chuckle.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Rhett laughs, tears budding at the corners of his heart-shaped pupils. “Are you kidding? What a dumb fuckin’ plan.”

“I didn’t plan that,” states Link, dropping his gaze back down to Rhett’s face. When another round of grateful, relieved laughter sweeps through the demon, doubling him forward into Link’s chest, he blinks rapidly and giggles, cautious with joy. “I swear, I didn’t!”

“Couldn’t fix my old horns, so you gave me new ones. You and your loopholes.”

“Rhett,” the brunet gasps, suddenly eager to collect his lover’s face in his bloodied hands and zip their gazes together. The texture of his beard, the crow’s feet at his eyes. It’s all natural and missed and a blessing, and Rhett beams up at him, every inch of his face alight. 

Happy enough to put the selfie to shame.

He’s here. 

He’s safe. 

“I love you,” Link emphasizes, searching his eyes and driving it home. “I love you so much. How do I—you _know,_ right? Please tell me you know? That I was an idiot and wasn’t thinking clearly, that I would do _anything_ to see you like this—to see you smile? It’s all I ever want. I just wanna make you happy.”

Rolling his eyes, Rhett leans in and kisses Link’s jawline. 

“Still a bozo.”

“Rhett, I’m serious! I need to know that you can tell how much I mean it. That you can _feel_ it.”

“ _Look_ at yourself,” Rhett says, gesturing to Link’s current state. “Your arm’s fucked up, you’re covered in sweat and your own vomit, dripping with blood.” The mirth fades from Rhett’s features as he takes Link’s damaged appendage in his fingers, inspecting the gashes from his fangs. “You made me bite you just so you could see me.”

His eyes flick back up to Link’s, and he shakes his head, brow furrowed. “Of _course_ I know you love me, Link.”

Link can’t collect Rhett in his arms fast enough, grimacing against his torn muscles. Somehow the pain is more bearable than it had been before. He presses his nose into Rhett’s hair, breathing deep.

Cinnamon and honey.

Eyelids burning, Link squeezes them shut and lets the tears fall, crying softly into Rhett’s hug and praying that this isn’t an illusion. That he isn’t dead, or in heaven, or hallucinating again. Let this be _real_.

“I love you too,” Rhett says.

Then he stiffens in Link’s hold.

“Still hurts, huh?” Link asks, whispering into the shell of Rhett’s ear.

Swallowing audibly, Rhett shakes his head, just barely. “N-No… not at all. _What the fuck,”_ he wonders, voice trembling.

Face falling free of emotion, Link leans back and stares down at him, wide-eyed.

“Rhett—punch me in the face.”

Rhett balks, glaring up at him. _“What?!_ No! The fuck, pumpkin?”

And time passes.

And nothing happens.

Link’s smirk evolves until he’s grinning like a madman down at Rhett, watching it click for him as well. When it does, Rhett’s shock reads clear.

_“Holy fuck.”_

“You don’t have to obey me anymore. Do you still have your powers?” Link asks, rapping his shoulder eagerly.

Glancing around, Rhett holds up a hand between them and snaps. Same as always, it produces a gush of flame. Seemingly unable to believe it, Rhett goes through a rapid-fire series of tests—shapeshifts his fingers to talons, shares his happiness with Link, reaches up to brush Link’s neck and incite the beginning tingles of possession, only to withdraw his hand at the last moment. 

“I—I can—”

Rhett loses speech, shaking all over and brimming with his new truth.

“You don’t have to take commands anymore. But you’re still a demon… you still get to keep your powers. You can stay yourself,” Link fills in for him, and that’s all it takes for Rhett to splinter into silent, racking sobs, pressing his forehead into his human’s chest and weeping. Bonds of a lifetime—of an _eternity_ —pain and duty, torture and servitude—broken.

“Rhett… you’re free.”

 _“Link.”_ The name is ruined and needy.

And even though Link knows it holds no power anymore, he commands, “Kiss me, Rhett.”

As if still bound, Rhett crashes their lips together, chaste and fervent. Hands trail through hair, tugging and screaming need-met-completion. Hips grind and readjust, settling weights and closing the already-nonexistent distance between them. It’s a dance—a give and take of two bodies who had nothing, were _prepared_ for complete loss, yet somehow ended up safe and entwined—drinking in one another's presence and willingness. Hearts beating in sync.

A human and a demon: soulmates.

Not without its pitfalls, to be certain. Demons don’t understand the world—are most familiar with the worst of what humanity has to offer. Humans aren’t immortal—as their fleeting existence lends them to ignorance, naiveté, and temptation, they tend to see things in finalities. But _all_ of those things? Link is going to work through them with Rhett. Anything to keep them together from here on out.

He’s going to prove he's better.

Assuming one thing, of course.

“Rhett,” Link mumbles, pulling away from their interlock and wiping his demon’s wet cheeks clean.

“What?” Rhett asks, voice low and beckoning. Ready for anything.

“I know you don’t have to anymore.” The request is soft. “I’m not your master. The tether’s still broken—I can feel it. You’re free now. But if you wanted to—if it would make you happy, to stay by my side and spend more time together—”

“Idiot,” Rhett jabs, kissing Link's cheek and pulling a tickled laugh from him. “You’re _such_ a moron.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You did this to me. I’ve no idea what kinda demon I am now, thanks to you. You gotta take care of me.”

It's effortless for Link to match Rhett's elated smile.

“Can't believe I get another chance to show you I can,” he whispers, tilting Rhett’s chin up and pressing their lips together.


	32. Starting Over

If Link hadn’t known better, he would’ve classified the swift healing of his wounded arm as a ‘miracle.’ His demon had done a great job bandaging it up ‘round the side of the house after sneaking first aid supplies from Link’s bathroom.

Testing the tight wrap on it, Link gives the gauze a securing pat and watches as his parents hurry to serve dinner. Feels weird being waited on by them, but they had insisted after seeing him worse for wear, and were clearly frazzled at the harried state of their son. 

Mom sets the serving dish of jalapeño beef lasagna on the center of the table while Dad whisks drinks to their placemats. The silence is thick—a preamble to a conversation his parents are _dying_ to have, and as nervous as Link should be? He isn’t. He’d just narrowly escaped being taken into custody by cops and firefighters that afternoon, so this feels like a walk in the park.

Sliding into their seats and divvying up the food, Mom’s eyes rake over Link again and again, like he’s an important television show of which she can’t afford to miss a second. Dad is _marginally_ more relaxed—feeding far more off Susan’s anxiety than Link’s injury.

“So,” Mom sighs, only remembering to fold her napkin in her lap after she’d already dropped a piece of ground beef. “You wanted to talk to us?”

“Yeah, I did. I mean, I _do,”_ Link corrects himself, smirking. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Dad looks between them, taking a long drink of ice water. Okay, _maybe_ he’s more nervous than Link had assumed.

“So—first things first, I guess.” Link pushes up his glasses and stands to head into the kitchen. There, he opens a cabinet and pulls out a plate and another glass, speaking over his shoulder. “I got kicked out of college.”

_“What?”_

Mom’s voice isn’t shrill or loud—it’s simply disbelieving. Soft, and on the verge of an uneasy laugh, and Dad looks to be right there with her.

“Seriously, scooter?”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry.” Making his way back over to the dining table, Link fills the glass with the pitcher and begins carving another slice of lasagna.

“Link—is this related to your arm?” Dad asks, brow furrowing in preparation for outrage. “What did you do?”

Link owes them the truth. If he’s doing this, he’s got to fully commit to it. No more fibs… well. Save who’d _really_ bitten him, of course. But this is the last lie.

“Jake’s dog bit me this morning. I promise I didn’t get into any fights on campus, or anything like that. I just… stopped going to class,” shrugs Link. “I meant to tell you the other day, but you all were so supportive. I really didn’t want to let you down. Shit, I didn’t want to let _myself_ down, but it was too late. I was expelled for poor attendance.”   

Mom is speechless. Rightly so. After one heads up of a ‘failed test,’ this is probably the last thing she’d been expecting to hear. 

“Language,” is all Dad mumbles in response. 

Yeah, they’re disappointed. That’s what this costs. That’s the price. And maybe Link is being a tad too nonchalant with breaking the news, but that’s what’s going to get him through this. They can bring down their wrath, and he’ll accept it. It’s not like he’s in _denial_ that he was neglectful.

Eyeing him as he transfers the new slice to the plate, Mom clears her throat. “That’s… that’s terrible, Link. We expected so much more of you. For you to excel.”

“I know. I’m very sorry.”

“I don’t understand this, Lincoln,” Dad miffs, hands dropping to the table with a listless thump. “You were such a good student in high school. Never skipped class—not that _we_ ever heard, anyway.”

“No, you’re right. I _was_ good in high school.” Easy enough to acknowledge. Link knows what’s coming before Dad scoffs and shrugs.

“So what changed?”

Ceremoniously, Link sets the lasagna and water at the fourth spot at the table and finally sits back down. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you I have a boyfriend—but it’s not Jake. Actually, Jake turned out to be a pretty bad friend.” 

He’d come home to a waterfall of texts from the guy where Jake _himself_ hadn’t even been sure of what’d happened that morning. He really had been higher than a kite, and Link felt no obligation to console him. So he hadn’t answered, and probably won’t.

Link unfurls his napkin and fluffs it out atop his thighs. “But you all were so nice to him… I’m really hoping you can continue being that supportive and understanding.”

Dad stares at the fourth set spot for mealtime, glancing over his shoulder towards the place where the living room meets the foyer. He grimaces, holding up a warning finger. “We are _not_ done talking about school, boy. You hear me?”

“Yes, Dad. We can talk about it in front of him, if you want. Honestly, he’d like to be included.”

Mom squints, looking up to the ceiling in thought before digging up the name from memory. _“Rhett,_ was it?”

It feels offensive, to smile as hard as Link does when his folks are upset. But he nods, and gestures to the empty seat. “That’s your cue.”

_Pop._

Rhett suddenly exists in the seat. 

Simultaneously, Dad jolts and bangs his knee on the underside of the table as Rhett offers a timid wave in greeting.

“H-Hello.”

He’s wearing a bright yellow button-up with black suspenders, lensless glasses, and his hair is meticulously groomed. His pupils are human for this, upon his own insistence. Not much can be done about his snapped horns, but at least he doesn’t have to wear that goofy headband everywhere he goes, as they had fortuitously discovered shortly after coming home. 

Despite looking eager-to-impress and totally unlike himself, Rhett’s very cute.

Cleans up well, for a demon.

 _“What the hell?”_ Dad mutters, pale. 

Mom only stares, hand to her heart.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Neal,” Rhett tacks on, glancing over at Link for reassurance. The brunet nods.

“Mom, Dad. _This…_ is Rhett.”

“How did he do that?” Dad demands, glimpsing under the table. 

“He’s a demon,” Link states, folding his hands in his lap and offering a hopeful smile. 

His parents still. Gawk at him.

“Come again...?”

“Rhett—well, that’s his nickname, his full name’s Vaz’gorhett—he’s my demon. Or he _was,_ anyway. I accidentally hired him by throwing a nickel into the ground a while back—it makes more sense if you were there… kinda… but anyway, we’re in a relationship now.” Link smiles at the end of the explanation, encouraging his folks to be okay with it. “He’s one of the most caring people I’ve ever met, and I hope you’ll come to think so, too.”

Both his parents’ eyes are locked on Rhett, inscrutable, and—the poor guy. He’s practically squirming, waiting for them to say something. Anything. Link reaches over and taps the tabletop, leaving his palm up and open, and carefully, Rhett joins their hands, giving his human a squeeze.

“He’s been with me for a few months now. Nonstop.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me crash with you, Mr. and Mrs. Neal,” Rhett tosses in, sitting up straighter. “Even if you didn’t know ‘bout it.”

Dad closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “And he’s a _demon.”_

“Yes.”

“Demons aren’t—they’re not _real_ , Link.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once, with me failing out of school and otherworldly entities existing and all, but… he’s a big part of my life, now. And I wanted you all to meet him.”

“He’s got _special effects_ makeup on, for Christ’s sake,” Dad groans, and Rhett perks up.

“My broken horns? Pretty proud o’ those. I can show you my powers, if you like. But… maybe later. I’d hate to ruin dinner.”

Silence takes over again, all eyes on Rhett. No one has taken a bite, and they won’t unless the atmosphere changes for the better. 

This isn’t going as smoothly as Link had hoped, but when he thinks back to _his_ first day with Rhett, Mom and Dad are actually doing a pretty damn good job not losing their minds.

“Uh… _huh,”_ Dad murmurs, crossing his arms and eyeing Rhett. “Which crazy house did they let you out of?”

 _“Charles,”_ Mom elbows him, and the kindness that sweeps over her soft features when she turns to address Rhett makes Link’s heart swell. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Rhett. We’ve never met a… _demon._ Before.” 

She offers her hand to shake, but recoils when Rhett reaches for it. The hesitation on her face clears away when she leans over and instead opens her arms for a hug, and Rhett falters.

Double-checks with Link.

“Go on,” Link nods with a grin. “Careful, though.”

Tenderly as he’s ever done anything, Rhett accepts the embrace, eyes wide and wondrous over Susan’s shoulder as she rubs his back.

“You’re _warm,”_ she notes with a laugh, and Rhett chuckles with her.

When they part, Dad’s jaw is slack and an eyebrow is cocked at his wife.

“He appeared out of thin air!! Link says he’s been living with us, and—I’m just supposed to _go along_ with this?” he asks breathlessly, and Mom shrugs.

“For now. He’s still a _person,_ honey. We’ll get to know him better.” Mom passes an apologetic look to Rhett, talking about him _in front of_ him like that. “It makes a lot of sense for why Link’s been acting strange, these past few weeks. And besides… it _would_ take the impossible for him to drop out of school. Don’t you think?” she asks, and after a few beats of silence, Dad pulls a relenting face that says _I guess?_

“Can we eat?” Link looks between his parents, heart fluttering with possibilities. “I miss having normal dinners with you guys.”

“You think _this_ is normal?” Rhett chimes in, and Dad’s surprising laughter bounces off the walls of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

After a brief discussion about living situations (and a halting series of reassurances that the demon hadn’t crossed any boundaries in staying with them thus far), Rhett and Link had taken care of the dishes and excused themselves to their room to process the events of the day. 

Link had turned on music and connected his laptop to his speakers, trying to keep the playlist at a respectable volume while still remaining loud enough to hear from outside. With Rhett’s help—both bundled in cold-weather clothes—they crawl through the skylight and emerge on the roof, taking a seat side by side and watching their breath billow and vanish into the clear, cold night.

“Can we go over everything again?” Link requests, hugging his knees to his chest and examining Rhett’s profile. “I just wanna be sure I understand how this works now.”

With a roll of his now-rectangular pupils, Rhett smiles and nods.

“Still have my powers. Don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. The pain’s gone. What else? Can appear to people at will,” Rhett throws a thumb back into the house in indication. 

“And the—the touch… sensation… thingy? The feel-good tether-touch. That’s gone,” Link establishes, cutting through the air with a flat hand. “I’ll miss it, but in a way… I think it’s better for us.”

Nodding, Rhett’s lips twitch in a smirk. “Agreed.”

“Are you—do you think you’re still immortal?” Link asks quietly. He isn’t sure what answer he’s hoping for.

Rhett blinks wide and sighs, shrugging. “Maybe? Hard to tell. There’s an inkling of _something_ there, but… I know just about as much as you do, bo.”

“Right.”

When Rhett tilts back to inspect Link, there’s a teasing glint in his eye. “Y’know… with the tether broken, I can move as far away from you as I want.”

Link bobs his head slowly. Thoughtfully. “We’ve established this.”

“It’s… weird, for me. Never been able to do that before. I can just… _go._ ”

Chewing on his inner cheek, Link gazes out over the lights of the neighborhood. The shadows of trees in the distance, spearing the starry sky. He uncurls himself and wraps an arm around his demon’s— _the_ demon’s back, lulling his head to rest on Rhett’s shoulder gently. 

“I think you should,” he whispers, and Rhett’s beard tickles Link’s forehead when he gazes down at him.

“What...?”

“I think you should go somewhere, Rhett. Travel. You’ve never been on your own before.” Link pauses to take a breath, pardoning the minuscule ache in his lungs as a symptom of the cold. “Be able to go find out what kind of person you are without anyone hovering over your shoulder. Do what _you_ want to do. See the places _you_ want to see. Meet humans who will show you that most of us only want to be kind and helpful.”

When Rhett speaks again, it’s barely audible. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. You know I’ll always love you, no matter where you are.”

“And you would be okay with that...?” Rhett wonders aloud in a whisper, a hand slinking to cusp Link’s thigh. “If I left you?”

Mouth opening and closing, Link’s eyes dart on the foggy horizon. “Of course.”

“You’re _such a bad liar!”_ Rhett growls with a laugh, snatching Link up and dragging a squealing giggle out of him. He hauls the human into his lap and digs his fingers into his sides in a mock tickle, jeering up at him from his chest. “Like I can’t tell when you’re lying anymore! Like your pulse isn’t screaming _no, stay here with me, baby, I can’t bear to be without you!”_

“Oh my god, shut _up!”_ Link protests, burying his blush in his hands. Rhett pries them away from his face with ease, fingers on Link’s wrists.

“Guess what, pumpkin?” Rhett leans in close, gloating and mischievous. “I’m not goin’ _anywhere._ Think you can get rid of me that easy? Just ‘cause I’m not _contractually obligated_ to be near you anymore?”

“Rhett, I just meant—”

“I _know_ what you meant,” he rumbles a smile, one fang bared. “If I go somewhere, _you’re_ coming with _me._ How’s that for a tether? I’ll throw you over my shoulder and haul you around the world.”

“That’s—that’s totally unnecessary,” Link laughs, hugging Rhett’s shoulders and kissing each of his snapped horns carefully enough to transfer the blush to the demon. “You know I’m willing.”

“Oh...?” The piqued curiosity is suggestive.

“Uhh. Well… _yeah_ , for that too, but—”

“Ever done it on a roof?”

Rhett’s hands fall down Link’s waist, palming his hip bones and shifting to drag their bodies together. It takes a hell of a self-chastising to remind himself that Rhett can shapeshift—can turn on arousal like a goddamned faucet, as evidenced by the very real and sudden hardness in his pants. Link shivers, swallows and flushes against the sensation, cupping the sides of Rhett’s head.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he admits, holding their eyes together and rocking down onto Rhett. It’s not a greedy movement, but it crushes the air out of Rhett all the same, throwing his lids low and parting his lips with a soft breath.

_“I won’t.”_

“And you’re okay with that?” Link asks, and Rhett nods enthusiastically, nibbling at Link’s jacket and puncturing small holes in the fabric in the process.

 _“I want it too, Link.”_ The sentiment is emphasized with a needy thrust up into Link, dousing him in goosebumps.

Link hums, enjoying the feeling of having nowhere else to be. Nothing to worry about. “Not as much as I want you.”

 _“We doin’ this, then?”_ Rhett begs, hands teasing up under the brunet’s shirt. It’s cold out, but anywhere Rhett touches is pleasantly warm. With a tamped-down chuckle of excitement, Link plants a kiss on his forehead. They can. 

But first, he wants to see.

“Hey.”

Rhett looks up inquisitively, momentarily broken of his lust. 

Doesn’t change that his pupils have turned into hearts.

Link allows a toothy smile and kisses the look of confusion from his demon’s face. 

“I love you, cinnamon.”

 _“I love you too.”_ Rhett cranes up to plant a soft, lingering kiss on Link’s lips. They exchange calm breaths, basking in one another’s presence and safety. 

No more need for complications or loopholes or censored words.

Somehow, they’d come out okay.

Rhett is free—and Link is, too, in a way. He _feels_ free.

Once they’re sated on comfort and the inevitability of one another, Rhett pulls back and lets his fangs slip in a coy grin.

_“Now lemme fuck you under the stars, yeah?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading _Untethered_. (Or _Tethered_ , whichever name you prefer. I ain't picky. 😉)
> 
> You all constantly humble me and blow me away with your support. I can only hope you all know how much it means to me. ❤︎
> 
> Lots of talented people made fan art of Vaz'gorhett, which also blew me away! 😍 Thank you, artists!  
> Click [here](https://its-mike-kapufty.tumblr.com/tagged/vaz'gorhett) to visit the tag where I keep them on my tumblr!
> 
> Thank you to the authors who wrote fanfic of this fanfic?! Why am I so spoiled, omg! ❤︎  
> Click [here](https://its-mike-kapufty.tumblr.com/tagged/fantet) to visit the tag for _those_ on my tumblr!
> 
> And lastly, a small ongoing side project is to be announced soon for this AU... simply 'cause I think Vaz'gorhett is a fun character and I'm not entirely done playing with him yet. 
> 
> Thank you all so much, once again. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not Such a Bad Thing to Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769389) by [analog08](https://archiveofourown.org/users/analog08/pseuds/analog08)




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